


Role Reversal

by ladyoftheshipping



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: (EVENTUAL THO NOT UNTIL THEYRE OF AGE), AU, F/M, Meister!Soul, Multi, SoMa - Freeform, Weapon!Maka
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-07-23 19:13:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 32,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7476447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyoftheshipping/pseuds/ladyoftheshipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since she was a little kid, Maka Albarn knew what her destiny would be: she would grow up, enter and train under the DWMA, and become a powerful meister just like her mama!</p><p>Imagine her shock when, one day, she finds out she's a weapon like her no-good, womanizing papa...</p><p>{A fic about Weapon!Maka x Meister!Soul / eventual SoMa (not until they're of age)}</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first fic, I hope you guys will enjoy. Please give me criticism, it won't hurt my feelings, I really want to  
> know :-). I'd like to know how the length is, this is only the first chapter so I'm aiming for 2,000-3,000 word chapters and I'll try to update every two or three days.

Maka Albarn was twelve when her dream of becoming the meister to create a death scythe more powerful than her papa was shattered. 

It wasn't that she had anything against weapons, really; some of them were wonderful people and she looked forward to one day working with one as his or her meister. Unfortunately, she did have a lot against her papa. 

Powerful as the death scythe was, he was also a liar, cheater and a scumbag. He had told Maka and her mother for years that he loved them, and then had affairs with women! (Lots of women.) He broke her mama's heart which caused her to leave. Now Maka was all alone.

She had always assumed that she would be a meister. She was the spitting image of her mother: hardworking, trustworthy (a trait she couldn't have inherited from her father), adept. And she had never shown any signs of being a weapon. Living in Death City (after all, her father was a death scythe—the Death Scythe) gave her the advantage of being close to where it all happened. Almost all of her friends were the children of important weapons or meisters who worked for Lord Death himself, which meant that they were weapons or meisters, too. Thus, she had always been surrounded by this weapon/meister culture and knew a lot about how the entire system worked—as well as the DWMA admissions. 

Her papa had never wanted her to enter the Academy. He was too overprotective to support such a thing, but unfortunately Maka was independent enough to not let that faze her. Whether her idiot papa wanted her to or not, Maka would follow in her mama's footsteps and create the strongest death scythe the world had ever seen!

Or at least, that was the plan, until it happened.

One day Maka was preparing food for said idiot papa when she accidentally slammed her finger into a cabinet—no biggie, although in the milliseconds before contact, when she realized her inevitable doom, she winced, readying for the pain. 

Except her finger didn't hurt. 

And there also happened to be a hole in the cabinet where contact had been made. 

As she curiously examined the site of the incident she realized that the cabinet had never touched her finger, because in place of her finger, protruding out of her hand, was....something else. 

It was metal and thin, sharp on both edges, one of which was wedged into the cabinet door. One side was a lighter gray than the other, and separating the two colors was a zigzag pattern. It was also curved slightly.

Maka did what came naturally: she screamed. 

* * *  
TWO MONTHS LATER  
Parading around the school with a WEAPON name tag was so embarrassing.

It wasn't the fact that she was a weapon itself; again, she had nothing against weapons. But to be just like her papa... It infuriated her. She wanted to be as far away from her father, the source of all of her misery, as possible. She took pride in the fact that she was nothing like him. But now...she was. She had something in common with him. And now everyone would be comparing her to him instead of to her mother, the person she aspired to be just like.

It was time to familiarize herself to other meisters. She was still studious like her mother and wanted to be ahead of schedule—although, she reminded herself, this was not a decision that could be made too hastily; she needed to pick someone who could help her become the most powerful weapon possible, someone with ambition and drive.

After walking around and talking to a few meisters, though, she hadn't found anyone she liked enough to even bother getting to know better. 

She was walking around the large school aimlessly when she heard it: the sound of a piano. Maka didn't know the first thing about music but she could tell whoever was playing it was doing so from their heart; they were playing a song deep and rich, laced with pain. The music was quiet, distant, but she decided to follow the sound and see where it led her. 

It took her a few minutes, but she found the source of the beautiful music: a boy with messy white hair playing a piano in the music room. When she entered, he didn't notice. She listened until the song he was playing ended and began to clap. 

The boy, clearly startled, whipped around. It only took him a second for his expression to change from surprised to threatening. "What are you doing here?" He was almost growling 

"I'm listening. Your music is really beautiful."

The boy scoffed. Maka could see now that he was wearing a MEISTER tag. So he was a first-year student. Maka hadn't expected that. What she definitely didn't expect, though, was the sharp, jagged white teeth that the boy exposed. 

"You don't mean that."

"I do!"

"Then you don't know anything about music, tiny tits."

Maka gasped and narrowed her eyes. It was fortunate (for her, anyway—definitely not for him) that she was holding a book. It was a paperback, but it would do. "Maka CHOP!"

She swung the book down onto his skull. 

"WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR?!" he screamed, clutching his cranium. 

"FOR CALLING ME TINY TITS, YOU PERVERT!"

"I'm just stating the obvious—OW! STOP THAT!"

"I'll stop it when you apologize!"

"Fine, I'm sorry!" The two stared at each other for 30 seconds before Maka finally broke the silence. 

"Could you play some more? I won't bother you," she said earnestly. 

"You're bothering me just by being here."

"Please?" the young girl asked.

"Do you really want to hear more of my playing?" the boy asked in disbelief. 

"Yes!"

"Here, then. I think you're making a mistake, but if you really want to listen... This is the who I am." The boy took a few seconds and a deep breath, then slowly put his hands on the piano. The moment he played the first note, though, his fingers began moving quickly, producing an elegant but dark melody. It wasn't like any kind of music Maka had heard before (though, to be fair, she rarely listened to music at all). It was discordant and clashing, chords arranged in ways that didn't make sense, atonal.

But Maka was entranced. Her immediate thoughts were, How can he think this music isn't beautiful? She didn't know much about music, as Soul had correctly surmised; however, she did know when she liked something, and she did like Soul's playing very much. 

Maka clapped again when it was over. "Wow, that was really something. If that song you played was really you, I'd like to get to know you better!" She beamed. The boy in front of her didn't turn to look back. He was silent for a few moments.

Still facing the piano, he mumbled, "You're a weapon, right? Do you have a meister?"

"No, not yet; I'm still searching for one," Maka said, a bit embarrassed—after all, she loved being ahead of schedule, and most of her classmates had already found their partners—and surprised at the sudden change in the boy's demeanor. He didn't seem like one for small talk. "And What about you? You're a meister, do you have a weapon?"

"No, but, uhm, I was..." the boy mumbled the rest of his words and Maka wouldn't catch them.

"What was that?"

"I WAS WONDERING IF YOU'D LIKE TO BE MY PARTNER?" The boy repeated loudly after turning around. Maka could see now that his normally pale cheeks were bright pink. 

"Oh." Maka had gotten quite a few outright requests—mostly from idiot boys who thought she was attractive—but this one came out of left field. How had this boy gone from being so reclusive and shy to asking if she'd want to be his weapon? "Well, I don't your name."

"I'm Soul. Soul...Eater," the white-haired boy said. Looking into his eyes, Maka noticed they were a deep maroon—she had thought he had dyed his hair that unnaturally bright white color, but maybe he was just albino. She had also noticed the hesitation in his words, and wondered why he sounded so unsure in giving her his name. She chalked it up to social awkwardness—the boy had been so rude to her before, after all, even though he didn't seem to be a mean person; maybe he was just bad at talking to people. 

"Soul Eater? What an unusual name. I'm Maka Albarn. Before I answer your request, I need to ask you something." Maka didn't wait for his answer. She looked into his eyes, her green irises blazing with passion: "I will be the next death scythe. Will you help me?"

Soul, taken back by her determination, hesitated by only a moment before responding, "Yes." Then, he held out a hand. Slowly, Maka held out her own and shook it firmly. 

"Partners?"

"Partners."

"Oh, and," Soul grinned, "we're going to make the coolest team ever!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry this is a bit later than I planned, but a lot of stuff has been happening where I am, so sorry :c. The next chapter will probably be out my Monday or Tuesday. I was thinking of establishing a regular update schedule but I'm not sure—I'll decide by next chapter, and if there was one it would probably be updated on sundays and wednesdays or something. I also don't have my laptop and this has been typed out on my phone, so I apologize if there are any errors. I did proofread it, but there are probably a few I didn't miss anyway. Just tell me if there are. Anyway, enough with me rambling, enjoy!

Full-body transformations came naturally to Maka. After a few weeks of learning what to focus on and how to maximize efficiency, she became a natural. Due to Soul's seemingly innate fighting ability and Maka's hardworking nature, the two partners were placed into the EAT class very quickly, with their teacher, Sid, taking a liking to them.

After their first meeting, the duo became very close, both in and out of training. They ate together between classes, went shopping for school supplies, and occasionally studied together at Maka's insistence. 

Today, they were sitting together (after all, they were partners—they had to, though neither minded) listening to one of Sid's lectures about soul pairing and resonance. 

"Of course, you are far too inexperienced to be able to perform soul resonance at this time," Sid continued teaching as Maka scribbled down notes. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't be preparing and trying to bond with your partners. That's the most important thing you can do right now—make friends. Most of you are already well acquainted with your partner, but that's not enough. Eat together. Go to school together. Talk to each other. Most of our upperclassmen partners in the EAT division live together, too. Whatever it takes to get closer to your partner and establish a high level of soul bonding. Fighting kishin is no walk in the park, and I'm telling you this because I want you to have a better time of it. That's just the kind of man I am."

Maka looked over to her partner, who wasn't paying attention and instead passing notes with some blue-haired idiot next to him. Live together? That was...pretty extreme. Maka was sure her father would never let her do such a thing. Soul was, after all, a guy. Her papa wouldn't even care that he was her partner. Even though she had never cared about what he had thought before, it stood that he was her legal guardian and thus made the decisions on where she lived. Maybe she could convince Lord Death...after all, he always knew how to keep her papa in line, and would understand why she needed to ask. 

I'm was getting ahead of myself, Maka thought, Soul hasn't even agreed yet. I haven't even asked him yet. He'll say no, probably. I shouldn't even bother. 

And yet, Maka Albarn was not one to fall behind in her studies. 

* * *

Actual training was, it turned out, way more fun than listening to Sid's lectures. 

Meisters were arranged into a line. Training classes were much smaller, only containing maybe five meister and weapon pairs—even though this was the more advanced EAT class, everyone here was still a very beginner. A small amount of natural skill was nothing compared to the amount of work it required to become a powerful team. Although the hours were long and the physical aspect was strenuous (especially for Soul, who had to practice swinging Maka as a giant scythe around for hours) neither minded. 

There were a variety of meisters surrounding them from where they were in the training ground field—a wide, open space where everyone was at least 10 feet away from each other as to prevent anyone from getting hurt. Soul and Maka (who was in weapon form) stood to the far right. To their left, there was that blue-haired idiot from before, or as he was known, "Black Star". Despite the fact that he was, again, an idiot, Maka noted that he seemed very powerful and Sid had taken a liking to him. (She also wondered who had enough patience to match him as a partner.) There was Ox Ford, another student at the top of his class, who was currently talking to a preppy girl with long, pink hair, clearly infatuated with her. Judging by the expression on her face, the pink-haired girl wasn't having it. 

Nonmoving humanoid targets were situated about 20 feet from the meisters, and their task was to run up to and hit the targets as quickly as they could with their weapons. This was mostly because it had only been about a month since partners were chosen, and it was difficult for meisters to be precise with where they hit. Many a tree had been destroyed while first-year students trained. After all, the weapon, even without soul resonance being achieved, amplified the meister's power tenfold, and that was hard to control. It made it even harder that the weapon was a living human that had thoughts and opinions; the meister was not the only one who controlled the weapon. To be a successful team, one had to work together and trust the other. 

So far Soul hadn't been very good at this exercise, and Maka argued with him constantly as to how to improve. After several failed attempts, she began to give advice: "You're being too fast, you can't control a huge scythe at that speed!"; "You're being too slow now, you don't have enough momentum!"; "You're angling it wrong, try holding the blade like this instead!"; "No, put more upper body strength into it!"

Frustrated, Soul growled, "I'm the meister here! Stop telling me what to do!"

"And I'm your weapon! We're supposed to work together, remember? How are we going to do that if you never LISTEN?"

"I NEVER LISTEN BECAUSE YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING THAT ACTUALLY HELPS!"

"MAYBE IF YOU LISTENED FOR ONCE WE'D ACTUALLY BE ABLE TO HIT THE TARGETS!"

Soul glared at the scythe. "Maybe I can't hit the targets because you're not working with me!"

"It's a two-way street, Soul! You have to work with me, too! You're being an idiot right now."

That was when Soul noticed a hand on his shoulder. "What's going on here?" asked the concerned voice of Sid from behind Soul. 

"Maka's not cooperating."

"Soul isn't listening!"

Sid, who stepped into Soul's view, said, "Maka, I need you to transform back into human form."

"Okay..?" Maka questioned the order but did so anyway; she wasn't one to disobey authority, especially that of a teacher, no matter how angry she was. 

In human form, she wore her ash blonde hair in two neat pigtails, with a standard uniform of a plaid skirt and a yellow vest and tie over a collared shirt. She was the model of a perfect student, and yet the disgruntled expression on her face suggested otherwise. She was an average height for her age (twelve) and stood proudly. 

Meanwhile, Soul stood next to her and provided dramatic contrast. With his messy, rarely-brushed white hair, his slouch, apparently cool-looking yellow uniform, and current snarl, he looked more like a delinquent than someone at the top of his class. He stood a few inches taller than Maka, even though they were the same age—though you couldn't tell with his bad posture. 

Sid seemed...not angry, but displeased—firm, unwavering, and the voice of reason as if he was telling kids not to argue over the last cookie in the jar. It was easy to see why he was chosen to teach the younger classes. Who else was so effective in gently disciplining students? 

"You're a team now, you know," Sid said. "You need to talk to each other about this, without the yelling. Both of you need to listen, and above all else, trust each other completely." A textbook explanation, though true nonetheless. "What's the issue?"

"Soul isn't hitting any of the targets and I'm trying to tell him why and he won't listen!" Maka said before Soul had the chance to speak. She crossed her arms defiantly. 

"Maka is being annoying! I'm the meister, not her; I know better!"

Sid shook his head. "I'll be honest, because that's just the kind of man I am." Soul and Maka, even in the midst of arguing, exchanged looks meant to convey, Why does he keep saying that? "Partners need to understand each other. If they can't, they'll never be able to become stronger. Soul, you are the meister here, but that doesn't mean any more than you get to wield the weapon. It doesn't mean you know better. Maka, try to empathize with Soul. This is a challenging exercise, and one that first year students have difficulty with. Don't worry if you cannot perform it immediately." Sid gestured to what was happening around them. The pink haired girl had a burn on her arm from where her lantern lantern had evidently touched her; Black Star had accidentally embedded ninja stars in Ox Ford's training dummy; Ox Ford's hair spikes were frazzled and his clothes were singed. "You're not doing any worse than the other students."

Maka and Soul knew what Sid was saying was imperative towards their success. Maka would follow in her papa's footsteps and become a death scythe. That was the plan. But if they couldn't work together...

"Right," said Maka. "Soul, I'm sorry." She held out a hand, renewed determination in her eyes. 

Soul shook it. "Apologizing is kind of uncool, but I'm sorry too, I guess."

"Let's try that again, okay?"

Maka transformed into her scythe form, her handle being caught by Soul's gloved hands. "On it."

Sid smiled as he saw them finally strike into the training dummy's fake flesh after a few more tries—it wasn't perfect, but he could see they were both determined. And after a few hours, they couldn't miss if they tried. 

* * *

A few days later, Maka came home from school to find that her papa was actually home. This didn't happen very often—whenever he wasn't at work as the weapon to Lord Death himself, he was at Chupa Cabra's. Of course, Spirit had never told his twelve-year-old daughter where he spent most of his free time (and assumed she didn't know), but she wasn't a fool. Besides, it wasn't exactly a secret. Sometimes when her dad didn't come home until late, she called Lord Death to see if he was alright. The answer was usually, Yes, he was fine, just being his usual womanizing self. 

"Hi, papa!" She said cheerily. 

Spirit looked taken aback that she had said that, as if he hadn't realized she was home despite being right in front of him. "My Maka!" he blubbered, eyes watering. 

"Hi?"

"Maka, is it true?"

"Is what true? Papa, are you okay?"

Spirit was now getting up from his previous position of lying on the couch. "Is it true," he sniffed, "that you've...oh, I can't say it..."

"Papa, just spit it out."

The death scythe pulled his now extremely uncomfortable daughter into a bear hug. "IS IT TRUE THAT YOU'RE PARTNERING WITH A...A BOY?"

Maka rolled her eyes. So that was what this was about. "Papa, I've been partnered him with months now. Have you not noticed?"

"You never to-told me! He's going to romance you, my pure flower! He's going to steal your innocence!"

"Papa, stop this! Isn't this a bit hypocritical? You partnered up with mama and she was a girl!" Instantly Maka knew she had done wrong. At the mention of the older weapon's soon-to-be ex-wife, he started sobbing even harder. His arms wrapped around her head tightly, forcing her head into his chest as he cried her name. "Papa. Please. Let me go."

"If I let you go he's going to steal your purity!"

"PAPA. We're partners. This happens all the time." Wriggling her way out of his grasp she threatened, "I'm going to tell Lord Death about this if you don't stop!"

"Not Lord Death! He's going to reaper chop me!" Spirit continued to blubber. "Maka, please, come back to daddy!" 

Maka, now free from his crushing embrace, sped walk towards the front door. Before she left, she turned towards him. "I'll come back when you stop acting like this!"

With that she slammed the door. 

* * *

"My papa is such an idiot!" Maka grumbled as she sipped on her drink. 

Soul, who was sitting across from her in the Deathbucks booth, frowned. "What were you arguing about, anyway?"

Maka turned pink. "Nothing," she said quickly. 

Soul didn't pry. "Well, he'll come around."

"No, he won't! He's going to keep talking about it until I move out. And even then!" Maka brought her hands to her head and groaned. "He's always been like this, ever since..." Maka stopped and looked down.

"Ever since...what?" Soul asked gently. If this was anyone else, he wouldn't care as much. He wouldn't speak as softly or be as aware of anyone else's feelings. But this was Maka. It wasn't that he thought she was delicate—not at all. He knew she could beat him up easily and Maka-chop him into oblivion, and she wasn't sensitive in the slightest. But she was still different. If this was Black Star telling him this, he realized, he would tell him how uncool he was being or keep making dumb jokes like usual. Maka was special. Important to him, even, more than his family ever was. 

She sighed and said what she had to say quickly, partly because of shame and partly because she knew that if she slowed down she wouldn't be able to get it all out. "My mama and Papa used to love each other a lot. Papa still loves her, or at least that's what he says. She's divorcing him because he had affairs with other women. Ever since then, Mama's been gone and Papa's been overprotective of me in the worst ways possible."

"Oh." Soul didn't say anything for a few moments. "Well, he does sound like an idiot," he declared. 

"I always wanted to be just like Mama when I grew up. She was strong. At the top of her class in the DWMA and probably the strongest meister to ever graduate. She partnered with Papa halfway through her time at the Academy and made him a death scythe in only two years. Isn't that amazing?"

Suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle fit together. Why Maka had felt so uncomfortable at first transforming into a weapon and talking about how it felt after Soul had asked her questions about it. Why she studied so hard, and why she was so displeased if she got even a single question wrong. Why she beat herself up over the smallest failures. And suddenly Soul felt like a massive jerk for every time he had ever made fun of her. 

"I'm sorry for telling you all of my problems, I must sound pathetic right now..." Maka whispered. 

"Hey, Maka," Soul said. "I have a spare room in my apartment if you want. Your notes said that it would help our partnership, right? And you'd be able to get away from your dad, so..." Soul finished awkwardly. 

Maka's eyes widened. "What about your parents?"

Soul's grin faltered. "They...don't live with me."

"Roommates, then. Wouldn't they mind?"

"Don't have any," he said. "I mean, you can't stay for free. You'd have to pay half the rent and groceries, but you'll get money from the DWMA anyway if you live on campus."

Maka briefly wondered how Soul could afford to pay for a large apartment by himself, but didn't ask. It seemed there was a lot that Soul wasn't telling her. "Okay," she agreed. "I'll do it." She smiled. "When can I move in?"

"As early as today, if you want. But what about your dad?"

Maka's eyes narrowed. "He won't let me. But he is the weapon to Lord Death, after all—I can ask him. He would try to help me if he knew the situation."

"Okay, then. Roommates."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I said I would update by Monday or Tuesday but my internet has been off for two days now, it's only Wednesday so I'm not that late I guess? If it makes any difference this WAS done by Tuesday... I've decided to update twice a week, Wednesday and Sunday. (If I have Internet, that is. I'm getting it fixed today hopefully). Anyway, actual plot in store for this chapter. Enjoy~

Having a roommate was unusual for Maka. Especially one that was so messy—she could rant for days about his lack of hygiene and laziness for days, too! They had established a cooking schedule (they would take turns cooking every other day) but after several burnt meals and the conclusion that Soul was not meant to be a chef, he began making microwavable food instead. This, of course, started problems, as Maka made her food by scratch, and it took far longer, and much more effort. However, as neither liked eating severely overcooked food, she turned a blind eye to the issue. For now, at least. 

With the months passing by came new victories and new troubles. They had become a powerful duo, Soul being one of the top meisters in the school, and passed the test required for earning one's first star. Thus, they were now eligible for going on missions together and collecting kishin eggs (99 of which were required to become a death scythe).

The day they passed the one-star test, Maka had dragged Soul up to the missions board for students. There were a variety of tasks that could be done in exchange for money, extra credit, and simply for getting more kishin eggs. Most of them required hunting down and killing a pre-kishin, and the skill levels ranged from one-star to three-star with different experience requirements. Of course, having just earned their first star a few hours ago, Maka and Soul had no experience and could only go on low-risk missions that were in state; however, she was still determined to get ahead.   
She reasoned that any experience she could get was valuable, even if it was a minuscule amount, and relished her new freedom. 

Soul, on the other hand...

"Why do we have to do this?" he groaned, facing the cork board filled to the brim with combat opportunities. "I mean, we just got our first star. Shouldn't we be celebrating?"

"This is celebrating, Soul," Maka pouted. "We earned that star. We've been working towards it for almost a year now, all so that we could go on missions! Now that we have it, we're not wasting any time. Come on, let's pick one."

Soul made a face but obliged. When his weapon was this passionate about something, he knew better than to argue. If he dare continue, he'd likely get Maka-chopped. 

"How about this one?" Maka asked after a minute of silently searching the board, pointing to a small scrap of paper with tiny condensed text.

Soul almost yelped when he read it. "Maka, this is hours away by bus, and it's for a WEEK! We can't do this!"

"Don't you want to become stronger, Soul?" Maka asked with an expression in her eyes that told Soul she meant business. "If I ever want to become a death scythe, we have to take risks. We can't just go for the easy missions."

Soul read the mission out loud, disbelief in his tone. "'Three pre-kishin conspirators are suspected in the serial murder of ten individuals'. We have no real-life combat experience! Don't you think this is a bit much?"

Maka hummed in contemplation for a few moments. She was hesitant to say so, but she eventually agreed. "Well, I suppose so. But it does say 'no requirements other than a one-star badge'... Okay, fine, I guess you're right." Maka looked almost bashful and seemed reluctant to admit, "I do want to become stronger, but there's no point in endangering you needlessly, huh?"

Soul grumbled, "yeah, yeah. Okay, how about this one? It seems reasonable." Though neither of them said anything outright, this was their way of apologizing to each other. There was an understanding between the two of them, that no matter what they did, the other would always be there for them. 

The one Soul had picked seemed more doable for the young meister and weapon. While it was still challenging enough, it wasn't anything that would truly put them in danger. It was a couple of hours away but they would only be at the location for three days, and there was only one target. 

"This seems good!" Maka said. "Are you sure about this one? It's not too difficult?"

Soul nodded. "Nah. I can't say I'm thrilled, but you've been really excited about going on a mission, so..."

Maka beamed, seeming genuinely happy. Soul had to admit that while he was definitely too cool to date his dorky weapon, she was... kind of cute. 

"Okay, let's go and talk to mission assignments and see when we can leave!"

* * *

A mere two days later, Maka and Soul departed for the small, sleepy town of Partonville—the kind of town where the most dramatic thing that happened was usually one resident telling off another. Partonville, though, was haunted by a series of gory murders targeting young women. Maka and Soul were here to make sure that the pre-kishin "Partonville Killer" that had already taken the lives of four would never kill again. Fortunately, though it seemed that said pre-kishin followed a strict schedule of feeding once every full moon, which meant it would be easier to catch. Because the full moon fell on the second day of their trip, they had one day to plan. 

All things considered, Partonville was a nice town, although there was a general sense of uneasiness and fear that enveloped the town and overtook its denizens. After a quick trip to the local library (and getting room service, because after hours of researching and travelling they were both hungry), they discussed how they would go about the mission. Or rather, Maka discussed the case while Soul ate. 

"This guy only targets young women, right?" Maka said in a way that made it clear it was a statement and not a question. "It's simple. I'll be a decoy. I mean, I'm a bit younger than the age range this guy goes for, but considering everyone else will probably be hiding indoors, and he must be hungry after a month of not feeding, it's almost definite that it'll work."

"No," Soul said immediately, putting down his food for the first time since it arrived. "I'm not putting you in danger."

"But I can protect myself!" Maka protested. "And besides, you'll be close by, waiting. As soon as we spot him, I'll transform and you can fight him."

"No. We'll find another way." 

"Come on, Soul, my way is the fastest. You know it too." Soul did know it. It was also the way that would put the least civilians in danger. Logically, he knew that Maka was right, but he also knew that this plan put her in more danger than he would feel comfortable with, even if she had no problem risking her life. 

"It's a weapon's job to protect her meister," Maka recited. "Don't worry about me. You won't always be able to keep me out of danger, anyway. Occupational hazard."

"No." Soul was adamant. Maka knew she couldn't convince him. Her meister was usually laid-back, but when he was serious about something, he was very serious about it. For him, there was no in between when it came to caring: his emotional states were binary, caring or uncaring. "We'll find another way."

Maka sighed. "I ought to Maka-chop you for this," she mumbled. 

"Let's just do more research," Soul said. "We're going to have to find out another way to catch the pre-kishin, which means we need to know what it's after, right?"

"That's something I thought I'd never hear you say."

"Well, believe it or not, pigtails, I'd rather do extra research than get my weapon killed on our first day. I mean, that would be so uncool."

Maka obliged and took out the case file while Soul finished eating he had neglected while the two were arguing. 

The folder containing all of the information and images about the case in hand, Maka summed up what the partners had figured out up till then. "So, what we have so far is the murder of four women of the ages eighteen to twenty-five. There seems to be no connection between them and as far as we know they never met. Upon examining the bodies, or whatever was left of them, anyway, their souls appeared to be ripped out of them, which is why the killer is theorized to be a pre-kishin. The murders happened—" Maka pointed to four different circled locations on their map, "—here, here, here, and here, in the outskirts of town. We don't have a lot of information, but I guess that's because everyone who saw the killer is dead, and this guy works at night. They're in a quiet, less populated area of town, too, which doesn't help. It's probably because the pre-kishin lives there."

"So do you think this guy is picking his victims, or were they just unlucky?" Soul asked, tapping the map that was now in front of him absentmindedly. 

"Well, to be honest, most pre-kishin aren't the most... Coherent. They're so overwhelmed with the desire to feed that they don't care much about anything else. That's why they're so dangerous. If left alone, they will become stronger and their desire will only grow until they become a truly mad being: a kishin. So, no, I don't think this guy is picking his victims. I don't even think he can." Maka said. "Which, by the way, you would know if you paid attention in class."

Soul ignored her comment. "It's kinda weird that he only kills on full moons, then, right?" Soul asked. "If he's some uncontrollable psycho, then why does he do that?"

"Now that you're pointing it out, that's true," Maka said. "To have a schedule like that... It's definitely unusual. And now that I think of it, the times of death were all estimated around midnight. That seems a little weird to me."

"What if the pre-kishin isn't the one killing them?" Soul asked. 

"How could it be anything else? Their souls were gone, for Death's sake!" 

"I mean, what if the pre-kishin is just...a scavenger of sorts? What if he waits for people to be killed and then eats their souls, instead of being the actual murderer?" Soul was beginning to make more and more sense. The pieces were beginning to fit together in Maka's mind. "Or what if someone was controlling it somehow?"

"That does make sense. Let me see the locations again," Maka said, frowning. Soul wordlessly handed her the map. She reached for a pen and began messing around with the map, which was out of Soul's sight. 

After a few minutes of writing "Soul." Maka's eyes were wide. "Look." She handed him the map. She had drawn lines connecting the four points on the map. 

"Okay, what's the big deal? Why the lines?"

"They're all perfectly equidistant from each other. I don't know what it means, but this can't be random. It's ritualistic. A pre-kishin working on its own could never do something like this. And I don't think a human killer would bother being this precise."

"You don't think this guy is a human or a pre-kishin? Then what?"

"It's so perfect. Too perfect. And the fact that it's midnight on a full moon—Soul, do you know what a full moon means in magic?"

"I'm not a nerd, so no." Maka didn't even glare at him for the comment. That meant something was deeply wrong. He could almost hear the gears turning in his head, see (literally) the dots connecting. It was then his expression started to morph into one that mirrored Maka's own horrified one. "Wait, in magic? Do you mean, like...witch magic?"

"Yes, Soul, witch magic," she said quickly, as if trying to tell him all of it before she could forget anything, "A full moon is the magical time of rebirth and renewal. And the times of death are a range and not exact, but I'm betting they were exactly at 12:00. If you were going to transform an early-stage pre-kishin into one more powerful, that would be when you did it."

"There's...are you sure?" Soul knew what she was implying, but hoped he was hearing her wrong. "Please don't tell me..."

"Yes, Soul," Maka said, confirming his dreaded suspicions, "there's a witch in Partonville, and it's trying to create a kishin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can guess who our two new characters are? Also, I made up the name "Partonville".


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is late, my internet still doesn't work and I had to go to an internet cafe to post this :-/. Updates are going to be a little irregular until my internet is back, which will hopefully be soon but who knows. I promise I won't forget about this story, though, and won't leave it for more than a week. This chapter is slightly longer, though, so enjoy :p

During Maka's first year at the DWMA, she had learned many things about the culture there. Most people were like Maka and Soul: courageous, inspired, and wanting to get out there and make a difference in the world. It seemed that there was nothing anyone feared or believed they could not do; it was a bit arrogant, and perhaps foolish, but the weapons and meisters of the DWMA believed the fate and wellbeing of the world was in their hands. In this way, the Academy's students were united by the common cause of justice, and would do anything to protect their ideals. 

However, there were a few things that made even the most powerful students shudder; things that were beyond the DWMA, irrefutably. Kishins, for example. Even the most arrogant of students would never believe or insist that they were beyond the power of a kishin. That was why the Academy was founded—to make sure the world would never descend into madness as it once did. The far less powerful pre-kishins could be exterminated, and their calamity need never spread into something darker and more disastrous. 

While kishin were always a threat, it was one that was at the back of everyone's minds. After all, the DWMA would never let a pre-kishin progress so far as to transform into a kishin. They knew they were safe. There was no need to worry. There hadn't even been any late-stage kishin eggs for centuries. 

Witches, on the other hand, were a constant threat. While their power was incomparably to that of a kishin's, their sheer numbers made up for it—and if you ever encountered one, you were as good as dead. Witches didn't normally attack DWMA students, or even humans. They weren't innately evil creatures, as far as was known, and peaceful witches did exist. But every once in a while, the thirst for power consumed a witch and... well, Maka had only heard stories, and she hoped they were false. 

Thus, to deal with not only a witch, (a being with a far bigger soul than either of the students, more experience, and the advantage of magic) but one that was working with an alleged late-stage kishin egg, was terrifying. It would have been to any three-star team, but the fact that they were both thirteen, and this was their very first mission, made it even more so. 

"We have to tell Lord Death," Maka said, face completely white. "What if the witch has already sensed us? I think they can do that. Soul, you have to fight against it. It's our duty as students of the Academy. Oh my gosh, I can't die before finals!"

"Maka, I think you're the only one who actually wants to take finals," Soul replied, a smirk masking how scared he was. "Come on, get it together. You're the most courageous person I know, and a great weapon at that. There's no need to worry."

"Well, we have to call Lord Death," Maka said stubbornly. "He needs to know. He can send help."

"We don't need help yet," Soul said, pacing around their hotel room. While it had seemed comfortable before, it now felt like a prison. He needed to get out, to breathe fresh air, but neither would dare leave yet. "I think we're overreacting. We don't even know it's a witch."

Maka was sitting criss-cross on her bed, head supported by her hands and with, for once in her life, poor posture. "We don't know for sure, that's right, and I didn't believe it at first but it just makes so much sense... this is textbook witch. It has to be."

Soul stared into her eyes. "Are you sure." It was a question, but he said it so forcefully that it was as if her answer was the difference between life and death—and in their line of work, it may have been. 

She contemplated her response. "Not entirely, but enough such that this is a real danger and we should be... ready."

"Well, I don't know a lot about this whole—" he gestured around vaguely, "—witch stuff, but I trust you, even if you are a massive nerd." This earned a pointed look from Maka, but no Maka-chop, which went to show how bad of a mood she was in. 

"You really shouldn't," Maka said with a small smile. "Let's call Lord Death. He'll know what to do. We shouldn't waste any time... if I'm right, we have an obligation to stay here and protect these people. I know we're not experienced and I don't think I've ever said this but I think you're a really great meister, Soul. I know you can do it."

Soul pretended that his weapon wasn't cool most of the time, but the truth was, she was the best weapon ever. Even if she was a huge dork. 

The pair made their way to the bathroom in search of a mirror to contact the DWMA's headmaster. There was but a single hotel in all of Partonville, and it could barely be considered one. More like a big, desolate inn—the few people who had wanted to visit the quaint Nebraskan town no longer did, thanks to the murders. 

Maka used her finger to write the familiar numbers that were used to contact Lord Death. "42...42...564..." she recited. After a few seconds, the familiar black figure of the Death God appeared. 

"Howdy, howdy, howdy!" he said cheerfully. Upon seeing their grave expressions, he looked a bit concerned. "Maka, Soul, is everything alright?"

"MAKA?" A voice rang out from the other side of the mirror, out of sight. 

Maka and Lord Death looked equally displeased with what was about to happen. Upon seeing Soul's confusion, she quickly whispered, "Remember my idiot papa? That's him." 

Soul had heard his weapon's stories, and always assumed that she was exaggerating. As it turns out, she wasn't. If anything, she was selling Death Scythe short.

She winced as her papa smacked into Lord Death in running towards the mirror. "My baby! Come back, Maka! Pleeeeeaaaase!" 

The Death God did not seem happy at his weapon's behavior. "That is enough, Spirit," he said sternly.

"Maaaka! I'll do anything you want!"

"Except go away, apparently," the young weapon mumbled to her meister. 

"YOU!" Spirit said, pointing at Soul as if he had just noticed the meister—which he probably had, being so focused on his daughter. "YOU'RE the brute that ripped my Maka away from me!"

"Uh, I'm her meister," Soul responded awkwardly, at a loss for words for once in his life. 

"SAME THING!"

"Reaper-CHOP!"

In the blink of an eye Spirit lay on the ground rubbing his cranium. Lord Death composed himself, and broke the silence. "I'm very sorry you had to see that, kids. Death Scythe can be...unprofessional sometimes. But less about me. Is something wrong?"

"Well," Maka started anxiously, "we're not sure and this is just a guess... well, an educated guess, really, if you want to be technical about it..."

Soul nudged her with his elbow, a non-verbal way of telling her to get on with it. 

"We think there's a witch here!" she blurted out. 

"Oh?" Lord Death asked, suddenly very interested. "And why would you think that?"

"Well, right now we're hunting down the killer of the four Partonville girls," Maka said. The Death God nodded, listening intently. "And there are some things that just don't add up. The killings seem ritualistic. Sacrificial, even. The victims fit the same criteria, were each murdered on full moons a month apart at around 12 AM, and if you connect the dots of where their corpses were found, a perfect rhombus is formed. I don't know much about magic, but I think the nature of these deaths make it clear that there was planning involved. The full moon has magical meaning as well, and...uh,...yeah," she concluded awkwardly. 

"You have good observational skills, Maka!" Lord Death said. "I did approve this mission, and as I was reviewing the case, the killer working with a witch never even crossed my mind. Good job, kids!"

"'Good job'? That's it?" Soul asked. Maka looked angry at his disrespect towards the literal god, but didn't say anything. He could almost feel the Maka-chop coming (after their call ended, though; she would never do such a thing in front of Lord Death). "There's a witch here! Aren't you going to send us help, or do something about it?"

Lord Death hummed. "Well, that would be a good idea, wouldn't it?" 

A moment of silence passed between the three of them in which the young meister/weapon pair simply stared at the Academy's headmaster. 

"To be honest, Soul," Lord Death continued, breaking the silence, "You don't have a lot of real-life experience, but performance-wise, you're in the top of your class—definitely better than the rest of our second-years and many of our third-years. If you were anyone else, I'd tell you to get out of there as soon as possible. But I think you can handle it, if you'd like. I wouldn't recommend it, but the option is out there. That being said, I realize it's your first mission, and no matter how you perform in the classroom, real life is a bit different. I'll leave it up to you. Otherwise, I'll send more experienced teams."

Soul and Maka made eye contact. "Soul—," she began, but was interrupted. 

"No," Soul said firmly. 

"What do you mean no? This is a witch!"

"Exactly, Maka. It's a witch. We don't have any human souls yet. We don't even have any real experience!" 

"It's nothing we can't handle," Maka argued. "We've been training for over a year now."

"We've been doing simulations for a year, Maka, there's a difference," Soul said, frowning. "Have you forgotten? Doing this would put my life at risk. This isn't a game. It's reality."

"Soul's right," Lord Death said gently. The both of them were startled; in the midst of their arguing, they had totally forgotten he was still there, listening. "If one of you isn't ready, neither of you should fight, no matter what the skill level. Especially since Soul's the meister; if he feels uncomfortable, it could put him in danger."

Maka felt guilty. Of course she wanted to fight the witch; she wasn't the one doing the fighting, risking her life. It was moments like these when she wished she was like her mama. Logically, she knew that weapons put in just as much effort—amplifying the meister's weapon took effort, drained her more than she'd like, and she did put in a lot of behind-the-scenes effort to make sure her scythe was being accurate—but at the end of the day, the meister was doing the wielding, weren't they? What was she to tell Soul what he could or could not do when her weapon form doubled as a protective sheath? 

Before Soul could react, she nodded and said, "Okay. Thank you, Lord Death. We'll be on our way back to the Academy tomorrow and take on another mission."

"Alright. Keep safe, kiddies. And don't look so down! You're two of my brightest students. Well, see ya later!"

With that, their connection ended and the two found themselves staring at their reflections in the bathroom mirror. 

It only took a moment for Maka to turn and head for her bed. 

"Wait—Maka, are you okay?" Soul asked, grabbing her wrist gently. The look on her face was the Guilty One, the one that Soul absolutely hated seeing but which manifested when something accusatory slipped out of his mouth. He hated knowing he had made her feel this way."I was kinda hard on you back there. You shouldn't beat yourself up about it."

Maka managed a forced smile. "It's okay. I'm tired now, though. All of this talk about witches has worn me out."

Soul released her but still wasn't convinced. There was no use forcing her, though. He had been living with her for six months, now, and spent nearly every waking moment by her side; he could tell when she didn't feel well. 

"Maka, you're a really great weapon, you know that?"

"...Yeah. Thanks, Soul. You're a really great meister, too."

* * *

The next morning, they woke up at 8 AM to catch the 10 AM bus to Death City. They reasoned that this would give them ample time to get ready, eat breakfast, and maybe even get a souvenir—whether completed or not, this was their first mission, after all, and they would always remember it. 

They left their hotel room at 8:45 AM sharp—Maka had a schedule to follow, dang it. They walked together silently, the leftover tension between them palpable. Even so, they followed their routine and made small talk. By 9:30, they finished breakfast and headed to the bus station. 

It was...quiet. Absolutely silent. Both of them knew there was something wrong immediately. While there was nothing completely out-of-place for a medium-sized town to be quiet on a Sunday morning, there was something unnatural about this. This was a bus station; were there even any employees? Maka wondered where the passengers were, too; they couldn't be the only ones taking the 10 AM bus. Death City was a popular tourist attraction, and the Partonville bus station was the biggest one around, which meant that people from similar towns in a 20-mile radius would also come here. 

Aside from the two's footsteps, which echoed on the marble of the bus station's interior, there was absolute nothingness. 

Maka could sense Soul tense up beside her, too. Instincts were kicking in; they were being followed. Both of them were on the same page, as both looked behind them at the same time. She held back a gasp as she saw what had been stalking them. 

"Maka, transform," Soul growled. She did immediately, not wasting a second. Limbs and flesh and organs turned into steel. Her handle floated in midair for a moment, landing in Soul's stretched out hands. 

He held the scythe threateningly, and both readied for a fight. In front of him was a pink-haired teenager. Normally, this wouldn't have shocked him. But that wasn't what alarmed Soul. What made both weapon and meister shudder was what the teenager was doing. In their hands was a black sword, and the look on their face was...well, it scared Soul. They looked like they were about to snap. Like they could kill both of them if either said the wrong thing and laugh while doing it. At the same time, though, they seemed out of control, terrified, as if their actions were involuntary. 

"Ragnarök, what do you think we should do with these people? I—I don't know how to deal with new people," the pink-haired teen said to their weapon nervously. 

The weapon emitted a scratchy, angry-sounding voice. "You should kill them like you killed the others, Crona!"

A smile spread across Crona's face. "I know how to deal with killing people!"


	5. Chapter 5

Soul stood, paralyzed, as the now-revealed-to-be Crona stepped closer. Maka's voice radiated out of the scythe he was holding: "Snap out of it!" 

"Right," he said. He couldn't make any mistakes here—this was real life, and whoever this was, they seemed powerful. He swung the weapon in a circular motion to warm up and then stopped, entering a defensive stance. He took a deep breath and looked at their attacker straight in the eye determinedly. "You don't have to do this! Let us go."

From within the scythe, Maka rolled her eyes. "Seriously? That's the best thing you could think of to diffuse the situation?"

"Well, what else should I have said?!" 

"Anything else! Where'd you get that from? This isn't even a hostage situation!"

"That's what they always say in movies!"

"SOUL, WATCH OUT!"

Soul stopped arguing with his weapon and whipped around to see a black sword flying towards him in superhuman speed. Thinking quickly, he sidestepped and avoided being hit. He had never felt so grateful for the rigorous training he had gone through at the DWMA.

Soul's dodging didn't stop Crona, nor did it even dishearten them. Without missing a beat, they lunged and tried to strike the other meister again. He used his scythe to counter the blow. 

"We can work this out," Soul said as he struggled to hold his weapon up. "Are you a DWMA student?"

This got Crona's attention—instead of looking down, their eyes widened and looked into Soul's—almost as if they noticed him for the first time. As they continued to push their weapon—Ragnarok—onto Maka's blade, they queried, "What's that?" Their tone was easy, effortless, and it was clear they were much stronger than Soul. 

"They're not Academy students, clearly," Maka said in her weapon form. "Those two must be the witch's accomplices!"

"You mean they're helping the witch?" Soul asked. He stopped struggling against Crona. The teenager, who thought Soul had given up and readied to finish him off, never expected what came to him. In one fluid movement, Soul used the blunt end of the scythe to strike Crona in the ribs. A sickening crack echoed throughout the vast bus station and the teenager flew several feet across the room before landing on their butt.

"Good work, Soul!" Maka exclaimed. Thinking the fight was over, she began to transform into her human form. 

"Not yet," Soul warned. 

It seemed impossible for someone to just get up and keep fighting after several of their ribs had been broken, but a lot had happened in the past few minutes, and the pair now knew that nothing was impossible. 

Dusting themself off, Crona rose onto their two feet and slowly, shakily raised their sword. Looking down and completely ignoring the others, Crona said, "This is different, Ragnarok. The others didn't fight back. I-I don't know how to deal with this!"

"We'll do what we did before, dummy," Ragnarok snapped. "Do I have to hurt you?"

"N-No, I understand," Crona said shakily. 

"I protected you with the black blood," the sword threatened. "Mess up again and I'll just let you die!"

"No! Last time you did that I couldn't walk for two weeks! I can't deal with that again! She'll hurt me!"

"HURRY UP THEN!"

"Scream resonance!"

Before Soul could register what had happened, a piercing scream filled the room. Instinctively, his hands flew to his ears, leaving Maka to clatter on the floor. The pain was so intense that he could no longer concentrate on what was before him. In that moment, all he existed was the horrible shrieking nose.

Through the midst of the sound, he could faintly hear someone calling to him. 

Right. Maka. He couldn't give up. Tentatively, he removed his hands from his ears—they weren't making much . His ears were probably bleeding and he could hear ringing, which wasn't good, but right now there were more important things to deal with. He just had to try to ignore the noise.

He grabbed her handle and could feel a slight vibration—she was saying something, although what it was he couldn't know. 

Where did Crona go? It was only a second ago when Soul had seen them, and they couldn't have gotten far since then—

In his peripheral vision, a flash of pink hair. 

Without even thinking, he swung the scythe behind him—the blade was long and curved and would protect him well even though he was basically swinging it around blindly. Maka also had the advantage of being able to see what was going on in her weapon form, so she would help out there. 

Soul could feel as soon as contact was made. He could feel something was wrong. A terrible jolt ran down his weapon's handle—he understood immediately, and could almost feel it himself. 

Pain. 

To Soul's relief, the screaming subsided a little bit—or maybe he was just losing his hearing. He hoped it was the former. 

"MAKA!" He could only barely hear himself; it was unlikely she could hear him. 

Turning around on one heel, he came face to face with Crona. He lowered his weapon; whatever had happened to Maka, he wouldn't let it happen again. He thought she was safe in her weapon form—how did it even happen?

Even when they weren't in soul resonance, paired meisters and weapons had a bond that let them feel the emotions of the other in battle. He couldn't speak for his partner, but even after working together for a year and some, he really only felt general, vague emotion coming from Maka's side. When she was doing fine, he felt nothing; it was only when she was feeling very intense emotions, like rage, that he could sense it too. Then again, he could also see her about to hit him with a book, so it wasn't much help unless he was given a blindfold and ear plugs. 

Now, though, he could feel such intense pain that he wondered what it was like on her side. If he was only feeling a fraction of what she was feeling...

He supposed it had to do with that pesky sword, Ragnarok. He had said something about black blood before, hadn't he? That must have been what saved Crona after he hit them. There was something off about those two. 

Soul was in an interesting situation now: he could use Maka as defense to the sword Crona was about to slash him with, or keep dodging indefinitely. The answer choice was clear. Maka was in too much pain and he didn't know what would happen if the sword hit her again; there was a very real possibility she could get seriously hurt (if she wasn't already). 

He couldn't keep dodging forever, but he would for as long as he could to buy himself time to think of an actual plan.

Crona jabbed at the other meister, who avoided it with ease. Again, the sword came flying at him from his left side—he ducked and kicked the meister backwards. He didn't realize it, but the infernal noise was slowly fading away. Crona wasn't affected by Soul's move in the slightest and carried on, sending a flurry of attacks Soul's way—each of which he dodged, lightning fast DWMA reflexes kicking in. He used Maka's handle to push Crona backwards without getting her close to Ragnarok. 

Soul was good, but Crona was better. He didn't realize it, but he had been backing up into a corner the entire time to avoid getting hit. This was it: the point at which he had to stop and act. 

There was nothing. No plan. He didn't know what to do, and there was Crona in front of him, smiling absentmindedly and holding Ragnarok with both hands above their chest, about to bring the sword down and end the other teenager's life. 

"Get on with it, already, you wuss," Ragnarok complained. 

Soul was grateful for the interjection; it bought him just enough time to remember that Maka was still in his hands, and if he was going to die, he wouldn't do it in vain. 

He let Maka clatter onto the floor and kicked her to the side; the scythe slid a few feet from where the slaughter was about to happen.

RUN, Soul mouthed. 

"I hope Ms. Medusa is going to be happy with me," Crona said to themself. "Last time she said I didn't do it well enough. She said it ruined the spell."

"GET ON WITH IT ALREADY," the sword seethed. "Get on with it or I won't let you eat next week!"

"I have to eat! If I don't eat I'll faint again and she's going to punish me!" Crona panicked. "I can't—"

"Yeah, yeah, you can't deal with it, I know, SHUT UP AND KILL HIM."

Crona brang the sword down—

"SOUL, NO!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, this chapter is a bit shorter then the rest, but it took me way longer! I'm awful at action scenes but I really tried and...yeah, I hope it doesn't disappoint. INTERNET'S BACK, expect regular updates unless told otherwise. This story is going to have all of the main characters and start off similar to canon, but it's going to diverge and it's not just a retelling of canon I promise lol. I have a lot planned, I'm excited! Oh and I know it's a hot topic for debate but Crona is gender-neutral in this fic, that's how it is in the original manga and therefore I will be using gender-neutral pronouns (they, them, themself).


	6. Chapter 6

Soul wouldn't have thought it was possible for a weapon to transform so fast if it hadn't happened in front of him. 

He didn't have time to scream or protest before Crona brought down Ragnarok—not on him, but onto Maka, who had jumped in front of her meister to protect him.

The sword cut into her chest. Since she was in her human form and thus Soul wasn't wielding her anymore, the link between them had ended—but he didn't need the link to understand what she was feeling. Her quiet whimpering and the giant gash across her front clued him in.

Even when she was suffering this much because of him, she didn't want to be selfish; she had just been sliced by a sword, and she didn't want to disturb anyone by being too loud. 

She didn't believe him, but Maka was the most honorable, selfless person Soul had ever met, no contest. To see that she was in so much pain because of him made it all worse.

"Maka!" the meister yelled, still in shock from what had happened. It had all been so fast, and it was only now registering in his head. His eyes widened when he saw the extent of the injury; although the cut wasn't too deep and probably hadn't punctured any vital organs (thank Death), it was long and jagged and bleeding steadily. She was breathing heavily, eyebrows scrunched up in pain and unresponsive. It wasn't definitely fatal, but could be if they couldn't get out of here soon enough.

Crona stood a couple of feet in front of him, staring at the two in what seemed to be wonder and astonishment, almost as if they were studying the pair. They held Ragnarok in one of their hands, and the black demon sword's sharp tip was covered in blood. The weapon, who had been constantly providing chatter or criticizing his meister even during the battle, was strangely silent. 

A lot of things were going around Soul, but he didn't notice any of them, because his weapon was hurt, and nothing else mattered.

What he did notice, though, was when the bus station door was busted open and a man holding a sleek black scythe rushed in. It wasn't exactly the kind of thing you could miss, even if you were holding someone who was in the process of bleeding out. 

"Maka, Soul! Are you okay?" the man asked. Looking up, Soul first noticed the giant screw going through his head. He was familiar to the young meister, but only in the fuzzy, I've-seen-you-around-but-I-don't-know-who-you-are way. Maybe he was a professor to upperclassmen or some other kind of staff member. Whatever it was, Soul trusted him; he was from the DWMA, and that made him safe. 

"Does it look like we're okay?" Soul snapped. Probably not wise words considering this literal screwhead was their only chance at survival, but really, what a stupid question!

"Well, Crona, you've really done it now," Ragnarok seethed.

"I-I'm sorry," Crona said, back to their previous timidness. "I tried but the girl jumped in front of him! Is this how girls act? I can't deal with girls!"

"You can't deal with anything, you useless brat!"

Meanwhile, only a few feet away from the pink-haired teenager and their weapon, the man introduced himself as Dr. Franken Stein, the most powerful meister to ever graduate out of the DWMA and its current part-time doctor. 

"You're a doctor? Is Maka going to be okay?" Soul said. Although his expression was unreadable, he felt vulnerable in a way he hadn't felt since he came to the Academy.

"I'm a doctor, not a fortune teller," Stein said, and then hesitated, reconsidering the harshness of his words. "..but if we get her medical attention soon enough, a full recovery is probable."

"...could've just said yes," Soul grumbled. 

Stein ignored him. His weapon, however, did not. 

"YOU!"

Soul recognized that voice. It was one he hadn't wanted to hear again. 

"Why are you here? Trying to make a bad situation worse, old man?" Soul snarled. He had tried to have patience yesterday, but with everything that had happened today, it was impossible to be civil to the death scythe.

"ME? You're the one who hurt my precious Maka, you—you—impure pest, BEACON OF SIN!"

Soul scowled. Names aside, Spirit did have a point—he was the one responsible. He was her meister, and he felt incredibly guilty about the fact that she took the blow aimed for him. Maybe if he'd been a little bit faster, trained a little bit harder like Maka always pushed him to...

Whatever. Wallowing in self-pity wouldn't do him any good, and he didn't want to hurt Maka more than he already had—if he didn't take action quickly, she might not make it. 

"Take Maka outside and get help," Stein said calmly. "We'll handle the situation from here." Surprisingly, the red-haired death scythe nodded, his face manifesting in the black scythe's reflection. It seemed that when it mattered, Maka's idiot father could be reasonable. Sometimes. 

Scooping the barely-conscious (she would definitely not let this happen if she were aware of her surroundings) petite girl into his arms, he kicked open the bus station door and made his way outside. 

* * *

The DWMA being two hours away, Soul had no choice but to put Maka in a regular hospital. The Academy policy on injured students was that if its own clinic was unreachable, said injured student would seek medical attention at whichever normal hospital was nearby and then after they were released have a check-up at the Academy's clinic (which specialized in magical or human weapon-induced injuries). Soul knew this because in their first two weeks together as partners, Sid had given them a test on the subject, and Maka had forced him to study.

She was okay, as far as he was told. The normal visiting policy only allowed family members, but with a flash of his DWMA-issued meister badge, the nurses let him in. Most of the time, she slept, and Soul rarely ever left her side, sleeping by her bed most days (on the first day, a nurse tried to shoo him away—it didn't end well, and nobody dared disturb him again). 

Her father visited often, too, and being in the same room as him was difficult. Soul realized that very, very deep down Death Scythe cared for Maka and wanted what was best for her, but his idea of that was skewed. He didn't want her to become a death scythe because he favored her safety over her happiness and independence—even though he followed the same desire when he was her age. To put it simply, the man was an overprotective hypocrite. 

Still, both of them were united by the fact that they both cared for her deeply, so for her sake, they tried not to argue (or talk to each other at all, for that matter—they were in the cramped room for hours at a time sitting in silence).

After a week and a half, the doctor (Soul didn't know her name, or even care for that matter) told them that they could take Maka back home—provided that she take a plethora of pills and stay in bed for the next couple of weeks and have a check-up every month. Maka's eyes shone when Soul told her the news.

"Being in this bed is so embarrassing," she said. "I want to be—," she gestured vaguely towards the window, "—out there."

"You want to be out in the parking lot?" Soul deadpanned. 

Ignoring her meister's sass, she continued, "I want to be training and fighting pre-kishin—heck, even doing homework would be a breath of fresh air!"

Soul frowned, shifting his position on Maka's bed so he was sitting closer to her. "Well, according to the doc, you're not going to be doing much but staying in bed for a while." 

Maka pouted. Soul couldn't help but think how cute she was. 

"You can do my homework," he suggested helpfully. "I mean, I'm the one who still has to go to school. You're lucky."

Maka swatted his arm. "That would be academically dishonest!"

Soul raised an eyebrow. "You're right, Maka. I'd never be able to live knowing I'd been—," he faked a gasp and put his hand over his heart as if he was clutching it in pain, "—academically dishonest! Dear heavens me, how could I even suggest such a thing?" 

Maka laughed, and then turned serious. "Seriously, when can I leave this place? The sooner the better."

Soul shrugged. "The doc didn't say. I'm guessing she talked about the details with your dad—he's still your legal guardian, so I think he decides."

Maka's face contorted to one of disgust. "I don't even live with him! I'm practically emancipated! What's the point?"

"Trust me, I'm not happy either," Soul grumbled, looking out into the hallway, where Death Scythe was flirting with one of the nurses. "No offense, but I want to be as far away from your dad as humanly possible."

"None taken. I agree."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Soul spoke up. 

"Maka, do you blame me?" 

The question came like a shock to her. "Blame you? What would I do that for?"

"For making you take this mission and then being a jerk to you and then being an idiot so you had to jump in front of me and almost die," Soul answered glumly. 

Maka blinked a few times. "First of all, it'll take a lot more than that to kill me." She grinned. "Second of all, none of that was your fault. Everything you did was justifiable at the time—you didn't know this mission would turn out like...well, this."

Soul looked into her eyes and smiled genuinely. "Thanks. I really—"

Suddenly, someone kicked open the door—a rather unnecessary action considering one could simply push it open. Soul knew who it was already and rolled his eyes, preparing for what was to come. 

"My precious Maka!" Death Scythe cooed. Realizing who was sitting next to her, he sneered, "and the pest. Why are you sitting so close together? Why are you looking at each other?" His eyes went wide. "MAKA, HAS THIS MAN DEFILED YOU?"

She sighed. "Papa, please. Stop."

"I can't stop! Not when this strange man is taking advantage of you!"

Silently, Soul handed her a textbook she had been reading. Holding it threateningly, Maka asked, "Papa, would you like to do this the easy way or the hard way?"

Ah, the Maka-chop: one of the few things Death Scythe truly feared. 

Shooting one last glare at Soul, the red-haired man crossed his arms said, "The pretty doctor lady said you're all healed up and I can take you home."

"Finally!" Maka beamed. "I'll get my things and we can go." She paused. "Soul comes too," she added just in case her papa expected otherwise. 

He pouted, but otherwise didn't provide resistance. "Fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Next chapter we'll be meeting some new characters *eyebrow wiggle*


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story is going to be on a hiatus between August 14 and 19. That's only one update day (August 17, a wednesday). I'm not entirely sure if I'll be able to update on the sunday after that, and I'll probably confirm on the chapter 8 notes, but there's a small chance that something will come up and I won't update. If I don't update the chapter on time, don't worry I haven't forgotten this fic lol. Thanks to anyone who commented, btw, and if you've got anything to say about the fic say it! I literally don't care even if it's criticism I'm just happy to hear from you people. Like you guys have no idea how happy it makes me when I see new comments.

With time, everything reverted to the way it was. Kind of. 

Even after a month, Maka still wasn't allowed to train, whether she was in her weapon form or not. This infuriated her. She had tried everything from bribing to sneaking out to straight out begging (none of which worked). She didn't understand why Soul was being so stubborn! After all, Nurse Medusa had looked her over and determined she was fine and didn't have any magic-related side effects to worry about. 

It seemed that he had even gone as far as to talk to Sid, who watched over the training grounds after classes to make sure nobody got hurt. Knowing how she was, Soul had asked him to keep a look out for her lest she try to sneak in. And she did try. (And fail.)

It was then that Maka realized that she didn't have anything to do. She had no friends to hang out with after school or any interests besides what was already taught at school (except for reading, which was nice, but you could only do for so long). She hadn't noticed any of these things before because she had been so busy between training and studying and homework, but now that she had, her life seemed...empty. 

Maka Albarn, soon to be the greatest Death Scythe the world will ever see, was NOT a slacker. This needed to be fixed immediately. 

Thus began Operation: Make Some Friends.

First, preparations and planning would need to be made. Maka knocked on Soul's door. It was closed, like it normally was, which reminded her that Soul didn't really have any hobbies either and what did he DO all day, anyway? Maka busied herself with her studies, but he didn't care about that sort of thing and rarely did homework. (It infuriated her, but after a year and a half, she knew that this was a battle she could not win.)

He didn't respond. She knocked again: silence. Well, this was important; he would understand a small infringement of privacy if it was for the greater good. She turned the handle and peeked into the room.

Oh. There he was, on his bed, with headphones on and eyes closed—listening to music. He never talked about it, and she didn't want to pressure him into doing so, but he had a strong love for music that he tried to hide for some reason. Whenever she introduced the topic, he changed the subject, treating it like it was some kind of shameful secret of his. It was clear that there was more to Soul that met the eye, but now wasn't the time. She was on a mission.

She cleared her throat, awkwardly standing in front of the door. He didn't notice her. 

"Soul," she said to no avail.

Hesitantly, she walked forward. His room was messy, but not as bad as she expected—she had only been in here a few times, as to respect his privacy, and she hadn't been nagging him to clean it since it was his space. The walls were bare, but the desk in one corner was filled to the brim with papers and books. Sloppily folded up T-shirts adorned the top of his dresser and a chair. There was a window, too, but plain black curtains blocked sunlight from infiltrating. 

She stopped in front of him. His music was so loud she could hear it from where she was—she would definitely scold him about that later. Ear health was no joke. If he went on like this, he'd suffer permanent damage in no time. 

She crouched down to his level. "Soul."

This called for desperate measures. She poked his cheek with her index finger gently. First once, and when he didn't respond, more times, and harshly, too. "Soulsoulsoulsoulsoulsoul."

His eyes flew open, darting around wildly before settling on Maka's round green orbs. Quickly, his apprehension turned into anger, and he ripped off the headphones.

"NOT cool, Maka! What are you doing?"

"I have something very important and it absolutely cannot wait," she replied eagerly.

Soul sighed and sat up on the bed. "What is it?"

"I need friends!"

"Maka, what are you even talking about? You have friends. Tons of them."

She considered this. "Well, I don't really have friends as much as I have people that mooch off of me for homework." She narrowed her eyes. "I think you fit into that category too."

"You're the one who offers!" 

"But that's because you never do it! Otherwise you'll fail and we'll be expelled!"

"That's not even how it works," Soul said, rolling his eyes. 

"Even so, I won't have you sully our good reputation!" Maka said, crossing her arms. "Anyway, back to what I was saying: we should make some friends."

He stared at her blankly. "You do that."

"C'mon, Soul, it'll be fun!" Maka said. "Please?"

Ah, she had discovered his weakness: polite requests coupled with puppy eyes. 

"I—you know what, whatever. Fine."

The smile that graced her face was 100% worth the effort he was about to spend. "Thanks, Soul, you're the best! Okay, get ready. We leave in ten minutes!"

"Leave to where...?"

But she was already gone. 

* * *

Unfortunately, neither of them were of legal driving age yet and Death City wasn't very big on public transportation. They walked, Soul reluctantly following Maka despite having no clue as to where they were going or what, exactly, they were doing. 

"How long is it going to be, anyway?"

"Not much longer. Just trust me, okay? I read a book about this."

"What, making friends?"

"Taught me everything I need to know," Maka said in wistful confirmation. 

"Nerd," Soul muttered. 

"Remember what I said about the book? I have it with me right now," she threatened. 

They walked in comfortable silence. It was a pleasant day, and Soul was almost glad that he was out here enjoying the fresh air. Almost.

Springtime in Death City was always a time of festivities. The semi-annual school fair was being held, and since almost everyone who lived in the city was involved with the DWMA, it was a pretty big deal. Even in the residential area where Soul and Maka lived, cheerful decorations were hung up everywhere. If one were to venture downtown, near the Academy, they would be met with colorful stalls, Death's mask insignias everywhere, and large crowds of people, some even coming from out of town. 

Which was kind of ironic, because that was exactly what Soul was seeing right now. They weren't going to the festival, right...?

"Maka," the meister said slowly, "why are we standing in front of Deathfest?"

She rolled her eyes. "That's not even what it's called."

"It sounds better."

"No, it doesn't. Anyway," Maka crossed her arms, "what do you have against the Lord Death Semi-Annual Celebration?"

"That's such a mouthful to say. Deathfest DOES sound better."

She glared at him. "Answer the question."

"It's a school festival! I'm too cool for that sort of thing," Soul said, glancing at the giant black banner that said WELCOME TO THE 497th LORD DEATH SEMI-ANNUAL CELEBRATION. He supposed it was a rather nice school festival, but that didn't change the fact that he didn't want to be here. 

"I think this place is pretty cool," Maka protested. "And a great place to meet new people! Come on, you said you'd do it, and, besides, when are you going to get another chance?"

"We're only second years. I'll have at least four more chances, and I don't plan to take any of them."

Ignoring Soul's protests, she grabbed him by the arm and dragged him into the festival. Briefly he wondered how such a small person could be so strong, and then remembered how much more training she did in comparison to him. 

"You're going to have fun," she said in a surprisingly forceful manner. 

"Fine, you can let go of me now, I'm not going to run away—hey, don't look at me that way, I won't. I can walk by myself..." Reluctantly, she let go of Soul's arm. 

"So, what first?" Soul asked, having accepted his fate. 

"I don't know," Maka said sheepishly. "I didn't think I'd get this far. Where do you want to go?"

Soul had to restrain himself from retorting 'Home.' Instead, he said, "If you want to make friends, why don't we start by finding other people?"

"Yeah, that'd make sense, I think." She paused, taking a moment to look around. "Do you see any DWMA students?"

It was hard to see anything in this sea of people, and he wasn't the tallest, but he could recognize hair THAT shade of blue anytime. "Well, I see Black Star and Tsubaki, but they're not the be—"

"Perfect!"

It seemed that Maka saw them too, because she weaved through the crowd and made her way to where the two partners were. It seemed that Black Star had lost a 

"What do you MEAN I didn't get the prize?" The blue-haired meister looked shocked. "Do you know who I am?!"

The bored gum-chewing employee behind the counter seemed unfazed. "Some low-life with nothing better to do?"

Ignoring her, he continued, "I am BLACK STAR! I'm gonna surpass God!"

"Look, SIR, we don't give away stuff for free here, so piss off."

Tsubaki stepped in. "I'm very sorry—," she squinted at the employee's name-tag, "—Elizabeth. Black Star can be a bit... overwhelming at times. Come on, let's go. You can always play a different game."

The employee rolled her eyes as the pair walked away. Maka followed behind them. "Hey, Tsubaki! What's up?"

"Oh, hello, Maka!" Tsubaki said, turning around. Maka had worked with the kind weapon for schoolwork many times, and while they weren't the best of acquaintances, they were on good terms. "We're just enjoying the festival. If you're not busy, you're welcome to join us."

"That would be lovely! Can Soul join, too?"

"Of course!"

Operation: Make Some Friends was looking successful.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry I didn't update on the 10th, I was really sick :/ I'm back home though (I was on visiting relatives for all of last month typing the story on my phone lol) and I have my laptop again. In other news, I bought a mechanical keyboard, and it makes clacking noises, so typing with it is an experience. Annnnywaaayyy enjoy!

Black Star wasn't as bad as Soul had expected. Sure, he was loud and loved to brag (and had probably said that he was the man to surpass God at least fifty times in the past few hours), but once you got past that, he was pretty cool. Soul listened as the other meister rambled on and learned that they had a mutual love of video games, acting cool, and not doing homework.

The festival was...okay. Honestly, it didn't even seem like a school fair—even the private schools his family had sent him to didn't produce such well-planned, professional events. Then again, Soul supposed, that's what happens when your school gets millions of dollars in funding from governments all around the world so it could continue preventing the world from ending. The DWMA was a pretty big deal; the day it closed was the day humanity succumbed to kishin, and most people didn't want that to happen.

Most of the people running stalls were students or teachers, and there was everything from arcade games to fast food to souveneir shops. Surprisingly, Black Star was able to win most of the arcade games, except for a water gun competition, which some emo-looking kid won. For an hour afterwards he complained about it, proclaiming that one day, he would become the greatest being to ever live, more powerful than even Lord Death himself, etc.

Maka looked like she was having fun, even though he could sense something was wrong—she was trying to hide it, but there was little that could be kept from someone who was constantly by your side; he'd ask later—and was surprisingly adept at all of the games she played, getting second place to Black Star nearly every time. (At first, she tried to compete with him in typical Maka fashion, but then realized that he was simply better than her, and there was nothing she could do to fix it, and she let it go.) Soul didn't play any of them, and neither did Tsubaki, but between the four of them, they had won too many prizes to carry. It seemed that the Academy's training, which helped strengthen response time and hand-eye coordination, was working.

They ended up giving a few of the prizes to some freshman weapon that Maka knew who hadn't been able to win any. The girl's raven hair was tied up in pigtails, and when Maka gave her them, she smiled as if it was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her and gave her a crushing hug. Well, at least someone would enjoy them—no matter how much his weapon nagged him, he would never be so undignified as to keep Death mask plushies.

Eventually, Soul forgot about his repulsion towards school activities. It was hard not to when everything and everyone around him was so cheerful—a bit ironic, he thought, considering it was a celebration of Death.

Maka and Black Star got tired of constantly winning everything after a while, and started going into stalls. The particular one they were at right now was called Death Second-Hand Books, a quaint place filled with as many bookshelves as could possibly fit in such a small area. As he had no interest in reading, he was left to follow around his weapon.

"Maka, you don't need any more books," he said. This was obviously the wrong thing to say, he realized, as she gave him a look of pure hatred.

"You can never have too many books," Maka scoffed, running the pads of her fingers over a worn leather cover.

"Yes, you can," Soul argued. "Our apartment is already small. To keep up with your addiction, we'll need five more bookshelves!"

"It's not an addiction! I can stop at any time."

Soul rolled his eyes but didn't comment. "The Academy has a library. Why can't just take books out from there? It's free and after you return them they don't take up room."

"It's not the same," Maka huffed. "You wouldn't understand! And besides, what about all of your music stuff? You have, like, three record players. Why do you even need that many..?"

Checkmate. "..You can keep the books."

She ended up buying a few paperbacks—"This one," she said, pointing at an ebony cover with green embellishments, "is about magical history, mostly witch politics. It was on the recommended reading list, so you should read it, too."

"Sounds cool." It didn't, but she was so enthusiastic; the least he could do was act interested.

"And this one, it's about—"

Suddenly, the book was snatched from her hands. Maka looked up to see a triumphant Black Star, who proclaimed, "I don't have time for nerd stuff!"

Tsubaki, behind him, smiled apologetically and gave back the book.

"So, how'd it go? Did you buy anything?" Maka asked.

"We got kicked out," Tsubaki said nonchalantly—it probably happened often, considering who her meister was.

It made sense why their two friends were partners: Tsubaki's patience and kindness let her work with her rowdy, headstrong partner. As for Maka, even being friends with Black Star was exhausting; she couldn't imagine being partnered with him.

"What happened?" Soul asked.

"Black Star climbed one of the shelves and tried to scare customers by jumping in front of them," she deadpanned.

"Well, were they scared...?"

"Well, he's not very good at being quiet, so most of them expected it," she answered. "Although, they were a bit frightened when he threatened to—," she utilized air quotes, "—'kick their asses'."

The two meisters high-fived.

* * *

Deathbucks was normally crowded since it was a prime location for DWMA students to eat, study, and hang out with friends. Being close to the Academy and thus the center of the festival, though, meant that it was absolutely packed. Luckily, Black Star knew the owner (it was amazing that any store owner could be on good terms with him), so they were able to get a booth.

It was late now, 6 PM, and they had been walking around for hours. It had been fun, sure, but all of them needed to take a break. ("I don't," a certain blue-haired teen stated, "but I guess since you mortals are resting, I'll do it with you. Not that I need to, because I'm the man who's gonna surpass God, but—").

They were served their food by a familiar-looking waiter (probably a student, like most of Deathbucks' employees). Soul had gone for a burger and milkshake; Black Star had just told the server to "fuck him up," and had received a giant sandwich stuffed with questionable sandwich ingredients; Tsubaki had opted for the chef's special, which had turned out to be a soup; and Maka, a chicken salad, which she boasted was healthy—she said this with a pointed look at Soul—and full of protein.

"So, school's ending soon," Maka said in an effort to make polite conversation. "Have any plans for the summer?"

Tsubaki thought for a moment. "I might go to visit my parents in Japan, but..." she trailed off, face hardening in a way Maka had never seen the normally gentle weapon. "What about you two?"

There was clearly something she was hiding, but Maka didn't want to push. They weren't that good of friends, and she didn't want to be rude—and whatever she was thinking about, it wasn't anything good. Instead, she offered a warm smile. "Nothing really. My papa lives in Death City, so even if I wanted to visit him, he's closeby. We'll probably be at the Academy this summer."

It seemed that family wasn't the best of topics to discuss. Soul had gone quiet, too.

"So, how are your missions going?" Maka asked, laughing nervously.

"They're going awesome," Black Star said, mouth full of food. For once, Maka was grateful that he was being loud, because the somber tone was finally lifting. "We haven't gotten any souls yet, 'cuz according to Tsu I don't have good enough ninja skills, but soon!"

"You guys got your first star, too," Soul said. Only half-teasingly, he asked, "How'd that happen?"

"Sid administered a practical test for Black Star," Tsubaki explained. "He has a hard time concentrating, so this was better for him. He did great, actually," she added proudly.

Black Star grinned. "Hell yeah, I did!"

"That's nice to hear," Maka said. She wasn't just trying to make polite conversation; she was genuinely happy for the two.

She had known the loud blue-haired meister since... well, when hadn't she known him? They had never been the best of friends, but she had always been familiar with his presence. Her father had connections, being the weapon of Lord Death, and many of those connections had young children. While her mother was still around, their house had always been a busy place, full of important people talking about important things that Maka didn't understand yet. They still did come by every once in a while, but not nearly as often. People didn't want to have business with Spirit Albarn; Kami Albarn, second strongest meister to ever graduate from the DWMA and Lord Death's right-hand woman, was the one they really wanted to see.

She loved that about her mother—that she was vital, trusted. If you asked her, she'd swear against it, say that she'd grown past that insecurity years ago, but she didn't like the fact that she was a weapon. It felt like she had failed Kami, in a way. Maybe if she had lived up to her mother, she never would have left...?

Speculation was useless; the present was all that counted. Her mother had abandoned her, and it wasn't her fault—there was nothing she could do about it, she told herself. Still...it hurt, and thinking about her childhood, her memories—memories that had been swimming in her head unpleasantly all day—opened up old wounds.

She looked at the clock. It was 7 PM; if she stayed later than this, she wouldn't be able to go to bed on time, and she had school tomorrow.

She stood up and gave the others a tight smile. "I had a great time with you guys today," she said. Glancing over at her partner, she said, "I think it's time to go, though. Soul?"

He didn't protest. It wasn't like he had a sleep schedule to follow, but they had been out since 12 and he was tired. Tsubaki nodded in understanding, saying that it was time for them to go, too, and they would walk out with them. Being on your feet for seven hours wasn't fun, no matter how good of a time you were having while doing it.

The two of them waved and said their goodbyes to the other partnership, promising that they'd get together again sometime soon.

* * *

Springtime at the DWMA was a time of celebration, but also one of loathing. As summer drew nearer, so did final exams. To Maka, this time was particularly stressful; being at the top of her class wasn't easy, and she had to make sure that she beat out Ox Ford again. Her 9 o'clock bedtime was tossed to the side and she spent late nights studying.

To her, it was just the usual—this happened every semester, and wasn't really a big deal. Eventually, even the never-ending spring passed, leaving her with a perfect 100% on the exam that would dictate class rankings (to her dismay, Ox Ford had scored the same; it was no matter, she would just beat him next year). 

Finals being over meant that school was pretty much over, too. They had a few days of classes left, but they were pretty much a joke and nothing productive was accomplished. Maka spent most of that time talking to her classmates—her friends.

She still wasn't the most social person. Operation Make Some Friends had succeeded... somewhat. Maka was friendly with nearly all of her peers, but it wasn't like she was being invited to hang out with them left and right. Still, she made an effort to talk to them.

She had a calendar in her room and was counting down the days until she could finally go on missions again. She was already behind (as Ox loved reminding her. At this rate, she'd never collect enough souls to become a death scythe.

When the day finally came for a checkup and she was deemed mission-ready by Nurse Medusa, the first thing she did was go down to the missions board, dragging Soul with her.

After a brief discussion and several reminders from Soul that she shouldn't exert herself too much (met by eye rolls), they picked out a case.

It was pretty similar to the last one. Two suspected culprits, a run-of-the-mill murder case, in-state. This would be a piece of cake.

Things were different this time. They were more experienced. She wasn't the overenthusiastic kid with a one-star meister badge and too much arrogance for her own good. They'd be fine, she told herself.


	9. Chapter 9

Maka didn't like missions so much, she realized.

Soul liked them; this much she could surmise, although it wasn't very hard to tell considering he was sporting a Black Star-level shit-eating grin. Maybe she had just set her expectations too high. Although she realized that what they were doing was vital to becoming a death scythe, it was just... irritating. She had been in her scythe form in an hour watching Soul chase a pre-kishin through the rooftops and was aching everywhere. Suddenly, she had a new respect for her papa.

They had already caught one of the asaillants, a human that looked anything but. Beady, soulless eyes, claws a foot long, a complexion so pale and fragile his skin looked like paper―the likes. But he had been consumed with madness, unable to even fight back properly. Taking his soul had been easy.

His partner was a trickier one: the brains of the operation. That wasn't to say he hadn't gotten his hands dirty, because according to reports, he, too, had consumed innocent souls. However,he wasn't nearly as complacent as the man he was working with.

The small city in which they had tracked down the killer had short, stubby buildings that were all more or less the same height, and squished together. Soul was grateful for this. It would have been extremely uncool if he fell off a roof on his first real mission.

The killer was running in front of them, about 20 feet ahead now. They had lost him a few times before, but it seemed like this was their chance.

"Come on," Maka snapped, irritated reflection appearing in blade's dark metal. "Just kill him already!" 

"It's harder than it looks!"

The weapon groaned. While she had definitely felt greater pain before, she would rather not spend another hour as a scythe. She needed to stretch. Although watching Soul chase the man would've sounded like fun yesterday, it turned out that it wasn't as exciting as she'd hoped. The man had an inhuman speed about him, and was unarmed, so he wasn't putting up a fight, just running really fast. 

"Now's your chance, Soul," she yelled―the man, who stood out like a lightbulb in an otherwise pitch black setting (almost literally; he was wearing reflective clothing, and it was the nighttime, which was a bit counterintuitive if you were trying not to be seen), was only ten feet ahead of them now. It seemed that he was getting tired, or maybe had just given up.

Soul nodded, determined. With one final burst of speed and a declaration of, "Your soul is mine!", he got ready to swing the scythe―

The man jumped off of the roof. Maka let out a frustrated scream.

* * *

In the end, after a few more hours of relentless pursuing, they finally collected the man's soul. It was late at night now, but as the meister sat next to his weapon on a rooftop, he could feel something different in the city now. It felt almost…cleansed. Maybe that was just him. There was always a different sort of feeling about being outside late at night, knowing that in the morning it would be bustling with people going to their jobs and school. These people, who had lived in fear of the monsters who lurked when it was dark, no longer had reason to do so. He felt a little proud.

They sat there for a while, on the edge of the roof, legs dangling from the air. The man’s pale, sickly blue soul glowed in Maka’s bag, providing them with light. (Did souls get dirty? Were they made up of actual, physical matter?... For a brief moment, he wished he had paid attention in class.)

He nudged her with his elbow. “Gonna eat that?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I guess I have to, but to be honest… souls are kind of gross.”

“Really? I always imagined they’d taste good. They look like they would.”

“Tsubaki said she doesn’t mind them, but,” she thought about it for a moment, “It’s not like they taste bad, exactly. They don’t taste like anything. They’re just slimey.”

“Huh.”

“I better eat it anyway. What kind of a weapon am I if I can’t even handle eating souls?” She laughed, but there was no humor in it. 

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just watched silently, awkwardly, as she ate it. As it went down, her face contorted into one of disgust. He wished he could offer her comfort, tell her that it was okay, she didn’t have to, but both of them knew that it was a necessary part of the job. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re a really cool weapon,” he said, breaking the silence.

She smiled at him. “You’re a really cool meister too, Soul.” Carefully, she hoisted herself up and brought her legs back, before standing up. “I just remembered; we should call Lord Death and tell him that it was a success!”

He didn’t bother getting up before he was absolutely certain that he had to. “Do we have a mirror?”

She looked around before realizing that of course there wouldn’t be a mirror on a rooftop. “None here, but I have my emergency one.” Maka always kept a mirror with her in case she needed to contact the DWMA. Soul realized that it was probably a good idea for him to get one, too, but he’d probably forget it, and when he wasn’t in the safe confines of Death City, he was always by her side.

The only downside about the mirror was that it was absolutely tiny, which meant that “calling” the Death God was a challenge. After all, the numbers (42-42-564) just didn’t fit. As per usual, it took the weapon a few tries to fit everything successfully. When she did, she had to hold it a good distance away from her face so that everything could fit. (Soul still didn’t bother to get up.)

“Hey, hey, hey!” Large foam hands waved at the weapon through the mirror. “How’s everything going, Maka?”

“We just finished our mission, and we’ll be heading home tomorrow!” She was proud to finally report happy news. “We’ve collected and consumed both souls.”

“I’m glad to hear that! Is that all?”

“Yes, sir,” she answered (in proper, polite Maka fashion).

“No need for formalities, Maka! I’ll see you tomorrow. Safe travels!” Lord Death ended the call, and she found herself staring at her own reflection once again. She snapped the little mirror shut and put it back into the pockets off her black trench coat.

“Come on, Soul. Let’s go back to the inn,” she suggested.

He took one last look at the city from above and got up.

* * *

It was summer at the Academy, and while most students were out of town, visiting their families while school was off, there were also a good amount staying. There were civilians that lived in Death City, too, so it was never empty there.

Their friends were staying, too, although that was partly because Black Star’s guardian, Sid, lived there. This meant that they actually went outside and socialized, much to Maka’s delight and Soul’s utter dismay. (Last summer, there hadn’t really been anything to do, so they had just sat in and played video games.) The meister’s negative attitude shifted when he found out that one of Black Star’s favorite pastimes was playing basketball―something that they both had in common. After that, it was hard to keep Soul inside, and a new friend was added to their little circle: Killik Rung, a friendly meister that had two matching young twin weapons named Fire and Thunder.

That summer, they collected a total of nineteen human souls, which was impressive considering they had only gotten their one-star certification a few months back. Most students weren’t so intense about becoming death scythes, although it was a goal that was at the back of everyone’s mind. Out of the 200 or so weapons and meisters that attended the Academy, only about thirty were in the EAT class, and half of them were underclassmen. Since the two were now rising third-years, they were officially upperclassmen. (Age didn’t matter very much, since one could attend whenever they pleased as long as they had the right soul type and a desire to learn; after all, Killik’s weapons were only eight years old.)

It was late August―only a few days before school started―when Soul got the call.

It was from an unknown number. While he usually didn’t answer calls (most of them were for Maka anyway, and he wasn’t the best at talking to people), his weapon wasn’t home, and he knew he’d probably get Maka-chopped if he ignored a phone call from someone important.

Grudgingly, he got up from the couch and answered the phone.

“Solomon.”

He was ready to hang up the phone right then and there.

He didn’t, though. Maybe it was because he felt some kind of gratefulness; they had, after all, paid for his apartment (and kept doing so, even if he was the worst son ever and never called or let them know that he was alive). Maybe it was for fear that they’d stop, and he’d have to come home (Death, anything but going home again). Maybe it was because he just missed them, although that option seemed the least likely.

“Solomon, are you there?”

“How did you get this number?” he finally asked. 

“Who do you think pays the phone bill?” she answered drily.

He sighed. It was best to cut to the chase: “What do you want, Mom?”

Suddenly her tone softened. “I wanted to call my son. Is that so wrong?” 

“You usually have an ulterior motive for this kind of thing,” Soul grumbled knowingly. “Also―stop calling me that. It’s Soul.”

“I gave you the name Solomon and that’s what I’m going to call you,” she said disapprovingly. It was a running argument that they’d had, and every time this was how it ended. “I don’t have any ulterior motives. Although…”

He groaned.

“I am aware that school starts in a week for you,” she said, sounding―even after all these years―disappointed at the mention of the Academy. “I think it’s time for you to visit. Just for two days, and we’ve already bought the plane tickets. That blonde weapon girl can come as well.”

He wanted to ask how she knew about Maka―one of the only parts of his life untouched by his family’s toxicity―but then remembered how much she donated to the school annually. “I’ll have to ask,” he said dismissively. Like hell he’d go (much less bring his partner along to the trainwreck that was Evans gatherings).

“I know you’re not going to come, Solomon,” she said coldly. “It saddens me that I have to do this―,” Soul scoffed, “―but if you don’t come, I’ll stop paying for your housing.”

It seems that she never ceased to shock him. She’d never gone this far―it had to be an empty threat, right? 

Before he could say anything, she said, “I’ve already e-mailed the tickets to you. I’ll see you, both of you, there. Goodbye, Solomon.”

And then she hung up. He just stood there for a while, silently going over the cost-benefit analysis. Well, there were no benefits to either situation, so it was more like a cost analysis. 

He sighed. She really did have complete control over him; nothing had changed. 

* * *  
When Maka came home, he made her sit down. This was the most nervous he’d been in two years; fighting kishin was nothing when it came to dealing with his mother.

She looked confused and worried, eyebrows scrunched up as she watched him pace around the living room explaining what had happened. Once he had finished, though, she looked less so.

“Soul.” She gave him a knowing look.

“Yeah?”

“It’ll be okay.”

“No, it won’t!” he shot back. “You haven’t met my parents. They’re horrible!”

She patted the seat next to her. “It’s okay,” she repeated as he slumped next to her. “I’ve had my fair share of horrible parents. It’s only two days, Soul. Two days and you’ll be back here.”

“Why do I feel like you know more about this than you’re letting on?”

“Your mom called me,” she admitted. “I was going to tell you, but it was earlier today, so I didn’t get a chance.” She knew this would pique Soul’s interest, so she added, “It was just to ask if I was okay with travelling. She seemed kind of…sad. I think she misses you.”

“That’s what she wants you to think,” Soul grumbled.

“Maybe it is.”

They sat next to each other in comfortable silence for a moment.

“I’m still gonna go, but I really wish I didn’t have to,” he said quietly. “Family events never end well for me.”

She could relate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh! Evans family drama & next chapter we actually get to meet them. (Also, seriously, to this day I am confused as to who let Killik's weapons into the DWMA??? They're little kids...it's a combat school....what).
> 
> Also, I don't know if I've mentioned this before (definitely not in as much detail), but I've planned the entire story out, and it's going to be about 45 chapters long. I'm not 100% sure, and if anything it might be slightly longer. It's going to span from now, (which is a little bit after NOT!) to after the main series has ended, probably mixing a few elements of the anime and manga in there but by the end it's going to be mostly original content and a different plot. Until now, it's basically just been filler.


	10. Chapter 10

The plane ride to New York was a stressful couple of hours. It consisted of Soul running through every single one of his options mentally—what was the chance of them really following up on their word? What if he just didn't show up? Paying for the apartment wasn't impossible; the rent wasn't that high, and the DWMA would be happy to offer them a scholarship (after all, they were one of the highest ranking parternships, thanks to Maka)....

Eventually, though, he came to realize that this was his reality, and if he had to suffer through two whole days of interacting with his parents in order to stay happy... he'd do it.

Even though he acted like he hated his life in Death City, he really didn't. Sure, training all day was annoying, and he was constantly sore, and his partner argued with him a lot and made him cook and clean... but none of those things really mattered. He was happy there. Much happier than he'd ever been at home.

And now he was going back.

Meanwhile, while he was busy being a nervous wreck, Maka was excited. She'd never been on a plane—her parents never had time for vacations, and all of their work was in the city. She got the window seat, and pointed out every single thing she saw. Soul learned more about clouds than he cared to know.

When they finally got to the airport, they were picked up by the family driver, an old, wrinkled man with gray hair and the good posture that Soul lacked. He had known the man's name at one point, but by then it was long forgotten. He figured that it wasn't like they were going to be interacting much afterwards, so he didn't ask, instead giving him a friendly wave.

Maka's awe had not dwindled whatsoever. If anything, her seeing the city for the first time was making her even more enthusiastic than she already was. She tried to make conversation—about the history of the city, where Soul's family lived, famous landmarks, anything to kill the suffocating silence, really—but none of it worked. Her meister simply didn't feel like talking. He felt sick.

Soon enough, they arrived at the Evans manor. Just like everything his family owned or did, it seemed perfect. Carefully sculpted bushes lined the entrance of the house, leading up to a pristine white three-story building. It was large, especially for a house in such a crowded city (even though it was in Brooklyn).

Soul had a lot of memories here, both good and bad. Being here brought them all back.

"Well? Are we going to go in?" Maka asked.

"Oh," he said, realizing that he'd just been standing there, staring. "Yeah."

He rang the doorbell. (He used to have keys, but they were who-knows-where.)

He expected it to be at least a few seconds before someone responded, but his mother must have been waiting at the door or something (unlikely), because it flew open as soon as he had pressed the button. 

His mother looked exactly the same. She looked remarkably young, with natural light blonde hair (he had inherited the white from his dad, just like Wes) and blue eyes. She looked almost angelic, which was such a sharp contrast to Soul's demonic features—namely, his red eyes, which even Wes didn't have.

The one thing that was different about her, though, was the smile that graced her—something Soul rarely got to see. It was funny, that she was so happy he was here, since she was the reason he left in the first place. Maybe she'd just forgotten.

"Solomon," she greeted formally, giving him a short hug. (It was probably improper to hug for more than two seconds). She turned to Maka. "Hello," she said, extended a hand to shake. "You must be Soul's weapon. I'm pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you as well," she responded. "I'm Maka Albarn, demon scythe."

It was clear the other woman had no idea what that meant, but nodded anyway, as it was (apparently) rude to ask too many questions. "Come in, both of you."

* * *

Teatime with the Evans family was more nerve-wracking than it had to be, even though the only Evans other than himself was his mother, since Wes and his father were probably out doing important, productive things. Soul was constantly on edge, trying not to say the wrong thing or make the wrong move. Maka seemed completely at ease, making conversation with the other blonde. From an outsider's point of view, his family truly had everything. Natalya, Soul's mother, was a famous cellist, and Victor, his father, a world-renowned first violinist. Wes, his brother, had followed in Victor's footsteps and at the age of eighteen was a highly successful violinist, the pride of the Evans.

Soul was nothing special. He didn't know what went wrong with him, but something must have, because he was a failure. He couldn't spit out elegant melodies like Natalya could, or play any song by ear like Victor could, or make things sound beautiful like Wes could. Once upon a time, he had played the piano, but it hadn't been good enough. His compositions had always been off-sounding, atonal, nonsensical, and they had always been the shame, the secret, of the Evans.

His existence had been mostly ignored. He didn't think anyone had truly hated his existence—they weren't cruel people, as much as they had been strict and unforgiving—but until he had found out he was a meister, nobody had cared. His grandfather had been a scythe, so Victor had thought it a good idea to get tested. In a cruel twist of fate once more, it turned out that Soul had betrayed his heritage again. He was a meister from a line of weapons.

The day he'd gone to the DWMA had been the happiest day of his life. Finally, a fresh start. A place where people wouldn't judge him by his surname.

And by some kind of miracle, he'd found such an amazing weapon. He seriously didn't deserve her.

Suddenly, he snapped back to reality, where someone was calling out to him.

"Solomon?"

"Sorry, what?"

Natalya's eyebrows furrowed. "Solomon, you know it's rude to say that. The proper thing to say would be 'pardon?'."

It was all about honoring the family ideals, about being proper. Soul couldn't stand it, but he had no choice. "Sorry, mother."

"You're excused. I was just asking, how has life at the Academy been?"

"Oh. It's been okay, I guess. Classes are going good. We went on a few missions." He figured this was the most general answer that she would be able to accept.

"Missions?" she put her teacup down. (Soul hadn't even touched his.) She looked concerned. "You mean to...fight those horrible monsters?"

"Yes, mother," he said with a sigh, slumping back into the chair. "That's what missions are."

"Isn't that a little...dangerous? You are, after all, still learning."

"We've gotten our one-star certification," Maka said, leaning in to grab a scone. "They don't let anyone who hasn't passed the test go on them, and most of them aren't unsafe. Although," she added, "there's always the possibility of danger; it comes with the job."

This just seemed to worry Natalya more. "That's horrible!" Her eyes widened, suddenly realizing something. "You two are careful, yes? You've avoided injury thus far?"

"Um..." It seemed that the weapon, usually so charismatic and polite, didn't have anything to say.

"Well, there was this one time—"

Natalya was too engrossed in the conversation to care that they were verging into 'improper' territory. "Yes?"

"It's nothing to worry about, mother, but Maka got stabbed, a little bit—"

She couldn't even get her hand in front of her mouth on time to cover her gasp. "That's awful! Solomon, how could you let this happen? Aren't you the one that's supposed to get hurt?"

Before Soul could respond, the girl cut in: "It's fine, really. I'm okay. I jumped in front of him when he was about to take the hit. But that was a special circumstance; it was a witch, and we were much less experienced than we are now."

"Oh," she said, seeming to have calmed down. "Well, I still think that's awful," she said decisively. Putting a hand on Maka's shoulder in a motherly way, she added, "I'm so sorry Solomon let you get hurt. I'll have a talk with him."

She looked uncomfortable at this point, although she was good enough at acting not to show it. Soul knew that look, though. He tried to help by changing the subject. "When is father going to be home?"

Natalya released her hand from the poor weapon's shoulders, opting to place it on her own lap instead. "It's five o'clock, so he should be home any minute now, along with Wes. Do you know that Wes had a show today? He was given the solo in a concerto—it was so exciting when we got the news! He's his father's boy."

He wished he hadn't changed the subject.

"That's...great." He knew where this conversation was going. He needed to change the subject, fast, and . "So, did you know that the most common type of cloud is called a 'cirrus'? Because I didn't."

"Speaking of which," Natalya said, completely ignoring his attempt at evasion, "are you practicing the piano?"

Abort mission. Abort mission. ABORT MISSION. He exchanged nervous glances with Maka. Even though all she knew was that he hated talking about anything music-related, she was smart, and could probably connect the dots. "Clouds are really cool, aren't they?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You aren't practicing. Solomon, why? I spent all that money—years on piano lessons so you'd be just as great a pianist as your grandmother. Don't tell me it's all gone to waste."

"Mother, please," he said carefully.

She pursed her lips. "No. Solomon, I'd like to know. Stop trying to change the subject. Tell me, why aren't you practicing?"

He sighed. Feeling a sudden burst of confidence, he started. "Mother, I hate the lessons," he settled on. "I don't want to play anymore. Please." It was only the partial truth. He loved music, loved playing the piano, loved the feeling of his fingers on the keys. But nothing he played was good enough; none of the things he improvised were happy enough. They were all straight out of his being, twisted and different. He soiled anything he performed.

That was it, the core of his problems. He was different. He didn't want to be Soul Evans, and the Evans didn't want him to be one of them, either. 

"The condition was that you'd continue practicing, even though you were at the Academy," she said, voice turning into ice. That was the thing about his mother—she was a considerate, almost kind person one minute and ruthless the next. She flipflopped between these states.

If Maka looked uncomfortable before, that was nothing compared to what she appeared to be now. She realized she was in the middle of a dispute that was only about to get worse.

Suddenly, the door opened. Natalya glared at Soul. "We'll discuss this later," she said quietly. "Your father and brother are home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man this chapter was hard to write. I hope you guys like the personalities of Soul's parents. Next chapter is meeting Soul's dad/Wes, which is the last chapter with the Evans in it. Also, this is a few hours late, so sorry :-/ took longer than I expected


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS THE LONGEST CHAPTER I'VE EVER WRITTEN (3.1K WORDS) I'M SO PROUD
> 
> I hope I wrote the Evans well? Also sorry I keep updating this late at night, I usually procrastinate and end up writing most of the chapter on the day I'm supposed to update.. whoops......
> 
> Also, I realized recently that italics/formatting wasn't working before this chapter. Whoops lol. I don't think I'll be fixing earlier chapters, because it's not THAT important, but this chapter has correct formatting (as will all the next chapters).

-chapter eleven

There had been a moment, a brief moment, while he had been on the plane, when he had thought that maybe,  _ maybe  _ things would be different. That perhaps everything would be okay, and his family wouldn't criticize him so much for being different, and that after the whole thing was over with, he'd have no regrets.

Sitting there in the living room of the Evans household, he realized how wrong he was.

What had he expected, anyway? Everything had been this way for the first twelve years of his life, and there was no reason for him to have thought that things would be better.

Just two days, he thought to himself, although right then two days seemed like an eternity. Two days and I won't have to see them for another couple of years.

He exchanged glances with Maka, seated next to him, looking almost as awkward as he felt. She was clearly trying hard to be well-mannered, even more so than she  _ usually  _ was; one leg was crossed over the other, her posture was so straight it looked borderline painful, and her hands were neatly placed on her lap. (She was wearing her standard yellow vest and red plaid skirt, since it looked nice enough, but he hadn’t been stupid enough to come to a family event dressed as he usually did; if he wanted to be berated, he’d just tell his weapon that her books were useless.)

Over the years, they had become quite good at silent communication, as it was a necessity—to have a good partners, and for souls to be compatible, meant understanding each other. Right now, for example, Soul’s raised eyebrow meant something along the lines of, “ _ I told you, _ ” and Maka’s sympathetic grimace conveyed that yes, he was right, this was much worse than she thought it was.

Because her papa wasn’t really  _ mean  _ to her. Yes, he was a womanizer, and he had made mistakes, but at the end of the day, she knew he cared about her (even if his means of showing affection were incredibly annoying). 

Not that, necessarily, Soul’s parents hated him, but it was clear how upset he was; these people made him unhappy, and showed no remorse in doing so. For the past two years, she had picked up on quirks that she had just associated with Soul-being-Soul like not talking about his family or music or how he paid for that huge apartment by himself without working or changing the subject when she asked about anything before his arrival at the DWMA. Being in a partnership is about knowing the other person, and suddenly, she finally  _ understood _ .

Mrs. Evans was quietly conversing with Mr. Evans near the entrance of the house (could it even be called a house? It was more like a mansion). Maka couldn’t discern what they were saying, but based off of what had just happened, she had a pretty good idea.

“Hi.”

The voice was foreign, coming from the doorway to her right. She turned her head to the side quickly.

“Wes,” Soul said coolly from next to her. He got up from his seat—this was the most enthusiastic she’d seen him all day—and gave the person a reluctant hug. Despite this, Soul looked… not happy, but  _ relieved _ , kind of, as if he had just taken a breath of fresh air after being in a room full of noxious fumes.

She took a moment to study him. He was taller than Soul, clearly older, although still young; he was probably in his early twenties. Wes (she assumed that was his name) had white hair like her meister, but it was neater and shorter. This, coupled with straight teeth and less sunken, brown eyes, made him look like a subdued version of Soul.

“So,” Wes said, pointing at Maka, “is that your girlfriend?”

She nearly spit out her tea.

Soul sighed, seeming unfazed by the comment. “Sorry, Maka. This is Wes, my annoying older brother.”

She waved awkwardly. Her meister’s family sure was weird.

“You never denied that she was your girlfriend,” Wes pointed out with a smirk.

“She’s NOT my girlfriend,” Soul denied. “She’s my weapon.”

“She can be both,” his older brother pointed out.

“WES.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he said, laughing and turning to her. “It’s nice to meet you—Maka, was it?” He held out a hand.

She hesitated for a moment before shaking it. At the very least, she thought, someone in this family has a sense of humor. “Maka Albarn,” she confirmed, “demon scythe.”

“Albarn like Death Scythe Albarn?” Wes asked curiously. (Unfortunately, this was a question she got often—being Lord Death’s weapon brought her papa a measure of fame. Most people at the DWMA already knew who she was and didn’t really care, but outsiders, regular humans, were fascinated by the fact that she was the daughter of the death scythe.)

“Yes, he’s my father,” she said drily.  _ Don’t remind me,  _ she added mentally.

“Wow, that’s cool,” Wes said. She almost laughed at the irony of it all—an  _ Evans  _ was telling her that her family was cool.

She could hear heavy footsteps coming from the hallway. Instinctively, she turned to the source of the noise, where she could see a tall, middle-aged man wearing a suit walking towards them. His white hair clued Maka as to who he was.

“I see Wesley has introduced himself,” he said, stopping at the doorway.

Soul stiffened. Wes shot him a sympathetic look, but didn’t say anything. “I was just greeting my brother’s weapon.”

“You must be the Albarn girl,” he said, as if he had just noticed her. Before she could answer, he said, “I am Victor Evans. I understand you’ve met my wife, Natalya, and my son, Wesley.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, shaking his hand. (He seemed like the kind of person who would want to be called ‘sir’.)

He took a seat across from her. Soul also resumed his position next to her on the couch. “So, Solomon, how have your studies been at the Academy?”

“They’re fine.”

It seemed that neither of them knew what to say. For a moment, the room was awkwardly quiet. Soul took this as an excuse to stuff scones into his mouth.

“So,” Wes said, breaking the silence, “did you know that Maka’s father is Death Scythe?”

“Really.” It was obvious that the man didn’t care. “How interesting.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Wes remarked. He seemed painfully aware of the room’s tension, and was trying to fix it. Even though it wasn’t working, Maka was grateful; she didn’t think she would be able to stand total silence. “So, where’s Mother?”

“She’s upstairs, getting ready.”

“What for?”

“For dinner, of course,” he said, as if it was obvious.

“Isn’t it a little early for dinner?” Soul asked. He didn’t have a watch on him (his parents had bought him one, but he hadn’t worn it for years) but a quick glance to the clock showed that it was only four o’clock.

“I don’t think so,” he answered, and that was that.

* * *

It turned out that they weren’t eating dinner immediately. It was 4:30 by the time Natalya was ready (and when she was, Maka felt  _ very  _ self-conscious, because if she knew that she was supposed to wear something fancy, she would’ve worn something better than her school uniform). Until then, thirty minutes of horribly awkward small talk had passed, Wes being the one who initiated most of it. She was happy that the bubbly, chatty woman was finally back.

It was another thirty minutes before they actually arrived at their destination. It turned out that the city was big, and Brooklyn was quite far from Manhattan, where they were headed. Maka had never been outside of Death City, so everything was fascinating and new. Even though everything about this trip was awful, at least the sights were nice.

“Where are we going?” Maka asked Soul in a whisper. The rest of the Evans were engaged in a thrilling conversation about post-twentieth century music (Maka had no idea what they were talking about, but it sure seemed passionate—Victor Evans was actually talking.)

“I dunno,” Soul whispered back. “I think I have an idea, but...”

“We’ll see when we get there,” Maka finished for him. She gave him a reassuring smile. Being here with him, around his family, was awkward and uncomfortable for her… and they were being  _ nice  _ to her (or trying, at least). She couldn’t imagine how Soul was feeling.

Just one more day. Just one more day. It was the mantra that was repeated in both of their heads. 

“We’re here,” the chauffeur said from the front of the car.

“Lovely,” Natalya Evans said from in front of them. “Everyone, it’s time to go,” she said, as if they hadn’t already known.

As they exited the car, Soul groaned. “Yep. Just like I thought.”

Maka looked around; nothing looked particularly out of place, although the architecture on the particular building they were in front of was something out of her dreams.

He pointed to the one of the display cases posted on the building’s wall.

“...So?”

He sighed. “Read it.”

That was something she thought she’d never hear coming out of Soul’s mouth, as he was usually trying to convince her to stop reading. She squinted at the display case he pointed to, reading one of the papers tacked inside. It seemed to be a playbill of sorts.

“We’re going to see a symphony orchestra?” Maka asked, confused.

“We’re at Carnegie Hall, so,  _ yeah _ , probably.”

“Oh,” she said. Musically illiterate as she was, she knew of Carnegie Hall—who didn’t? She had been wondering where the Evans family was going to take them, and it seemed kind of obvious now. After all, their life seemed to be centered around music. (She didn’t know why it was so important to them, and it seemed very strange to her, but maybe it was just because she was never very interested in it.)

“Hey, are you okay?” she asked. Soul looked kind of upset.

“I’m fine,” he said, although he was doing a bad job of convincing her—the meant-to-be-reassuring smile on his face was definitely fake, and he was an idiot if he thought he could convince his partner of two years that it wasn’t.

* * *

She didn’t think it would last very long, but it did. In hindsight, she didn’t know what she had expected. Not two and a half hours, that was for sure. The music wasn’t unpleasant, but sitting there for nearly three hours was. It was just… boring. Maka didn’t listen to music much, and when she did, it was mostly from the radio—the top 40 stuff that the Evans would definitely scoff at. The intermission was the only part where she felt like she could relax.

Meanwhile, Soul, sitting next to her the entire time, looked more uncomfortable than she’d seen him in her entire life. He was doing a good job of not showing it, but not good enough to fool her.

She asked him what was wrong during the intermission. He evaded the question again, and they didn’t talk, listening to the other Evans making small talk.

“So, have you heard that the ‘Brooklyn devils’ have been caught?” she heard Natalya say in passing conversation. “I’m so glad. They’ve been haunting us for the past year now.”

“They were never really a danger to  _ us,  _ honey,” Victor reassured her. “Those girls wouldn’t dare step foot in our neighborhood. It is a good thing they’re off the streets, though.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Natalya said. “Still, I feel safer knowing that they’re gone, even though the news never said what happened to them.”

“Well, they’re in prison, of course,” her husband said. “They’re felons. Where else would they go?”

The rest of the symphony, and dinner afterwards, went well enough. The restaurant she was taken to was definitely the fanciest she’d ever eaten at. The prices made her want to run away screaming, but she resisted the urge. She didn’t even try very hard to offer to pay (admittedly, she  _ did  _ have the money, since the DWMA paid its students for missions and they’d been on quite a few, although she wasn’t by any means well-off). Natalya quickly told her that, nonsense, there was no way that she was paying, and that was that.

By the time they were back home, it was nine. They had done a lot all in a single day; the flight was early in the morning, too, and they were tired.

Victor gave them a forced friendly “good night” while Natalya led them to their rooms—it seems that there were no abundance of empty rooms in the Evans manor. The particular ones they were led to were next to each other. They were told that breakfast was to be served at eight AM sharp, and tardiness would not be tolerated (this was followed up with a sharp look directed towards Soul). 

Maka’s room was full of furniture, but devoid of any individuality that may have claimed the space as anyone’s bedroom. Generic cream-colored walls surrounded her, with a bed and night table at one side and a desk on the other. She put down her suitcase next to the bed, got changed into her pajamas, and laid down.

It was around the time she normally went to sleep, and logically, she  _ should  _ have been tired. After all, she had woken up at five that morning, and stayed up late the other night packing in preparation (to be fair, her definition of ‘late’ was anything after ten PM, but that didn’t matter). Still, though, she found herself lying awake.

Slowly, she opened the door. She didn’t want to wake anyone, although she knew nobody was on this floor anyway except for them. Still, she walked lightly, which wasn’t hard anyway for her because she was so skinny and short. 

When she got to outside of Soul’s door, she knocked softly—hard enough so that he’d hear it if he was awake, but gently enough so that it wouldn’t wake up anyone downstairs or him if he was still sleeping (which he definitely wasn’t). 

It only took a few seconds for him to come fumbling to the door. It was obvious he didn’t care as much about being loud as she did—he made no effort to be quiet or subtle.

The door creaked open. When Soul realized it was just her, he yawned and said, “Hi.”

She greeted him quietly and asked if she could come in. He blinked once before saying, “Yeah, sure,” and let her in before closing the door behind him.

His room was much less bare than his—she wondered if it had been his before he moved out—with a few sparse posters decorating the walls, a dusty keyboard in one corner, and a TV with bean bags across from it. 

“Wait,” Maka said with a raised eyebrow. “You have  _ bean bags? _ ”

“Uh, yeah,” he said.

“ _ Bean bags _ .”

“Yes?”

“Okay, that’s all.” Odd enough as it was, she’d never seen bean bags in real life, or met anyone who actually owned them. She plopped down on one, and Soul followed suit.

“So, why are you here?” Soul asked.

She hesitated for a moment, twirling a strand of non-pigtail clad blonde hair. “I just wanted to ask you,” Maka said carefully, “you seemed really out of it today. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly.

She wasn’t buying that. “Are you really?”

“Kind of?” he offered. This was good. Progress was being made. “Just… being with my family when I haven’t been for so long. It’s…” he trailed off.

“Yeah, I know,” she said. “At least we’ll be going home tomorrow.”

He nodded. Although he wasn’t showing it, having his weapon around made him a lot less anxious than he would’ve been if he had gone alone. Her presence was comforting. 

“Thanks, Maka,” he said quietly.

She smiled at him. They sat there for a while talking about what they’d do when they got back (Deathbucks was high on their to-do list), where they’d shop for back-to-school supplies, anything to take their minds off of the events of the day.

Eventually, Maka looked at the time (Soul may not have had a watch, but Maka had things to do, places to be) and realized it was one in the morning. Her eyes widened; this would throw off her sleep schedule greatly. She said goodbye to him and hurried out of the room, where she quickly fell asleep.

* * *

Wearily she woke up at seven AM to get ready for breakfast (she woke up her meister, too, because she knew otherwise there was no way he’d be up in time). It turned out the Evans family actually had quite a few maids, who she hadn’t noticed yesterday. She discovered that most of them were actually quite nice, and held a conversation with one of them downstairs at the kitchen table until Soul came down.

Normally, he showed up for breakfast in his pajamas, but she could tell that he was actually trying to be well-mannered for his parents’ sake. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans, which was still pretty casual, but still an improvement.

That afternoon, they walked through Central Park. Before that, she couldn’t imagine Natalya and Victor enjoying nature—they seemed like the kinds of people who would loathe getting dirt or grime on their clothes—but apparently the park was  _ just  _ nice enough for snobbish rich people to enjoy. It was actually quite nice, and since Death City was literally in the middle of the desert, the experience was relatively new for her. 

Their flight was for seven o’clock, which meant they had to be at the airport at four, which Maka was thankful for—she didn’t think she could handle being with the Evans family longer (although she had decided yesterday that Wes was okay). After eating lunch, the chauffeur came to drive them to the airport. She thanked the Evans parents profusely, even though her heart wasn’t really into it—they had treated her meister too badly for her to be able to genuinely like them.

As she entered the car, and Soul was following behind her, she heard Natalya say, “Wait.” She looked back, but when she saw his mother pulling Soul in for a hug, she realized that it wasn’t intended for her.

“Please visit again,” she said. “You too, Maka.”

She looked… sad, almost. Soul nodded, emotionless, and they drove off to the airport.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OHMYGOSH I AM SO SORRY I KNOW THIS IS SUPER LATE I'M SORRY GUYS I will NOT be sticking to a regular update schedule from now on but I promise I will update at LEAST once every two weeks (minimum) and you should expect weekly updates (definitely on the weekends) although no promises. My excuse is that school started up again and I basically stay up until 11 every night finishing up homework and then fall asleep as soon as I can because I'm so tired.
> 
> Fun.
> 
> With that being said, I hope you guys enjoy and I definitely won't stop updating for as long as I did before I posted this. I /WILL/ finish this fic. Eventually. But there will be delays along the way.

“What does this even mean?” Soul asked rhetorically, and then pointed at a passage of text too far away for Maka to read. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Just try to do what the book says.”

“The book is  _ dumb _ ,” Soul said, snapping the offending object shut. “It said to ‘visualize the flow of the universe’. How am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know!” she said, exasperated. “I have no idea! Because I can’t sense souls! Just try, would you?”

“What if I just don’t have it?” Soul asked. “I mean, not every meister does, right?”

Maka pursed her lips. “Well, yeah, but most do,” she said. “And besides, soul perception doesn’t always come naturally. No one is able to use it immediately. You need to at least  _ try _ .”

They stared at each other, a silent challenge. Finally, Soul relented. “Okay, okay,” he grumbled, picking up the book once again and opening it to the passaged he was reading. “So, I’m supposed to visualize the flow of the universe or something, and ‘picture the essence of my partner.’”

He squinted at the weapon for a solid thirty seconds before realizing that nothing was changing.

“That didn’t work.”

“You’re probably not doing it right! Give me that.” She snatched the book away from him. A slender, pale finger followed along the lines of text as she read the instructions. After skimming for a few seconds, she quipped, “Have you even read this? It says that you need to do a warmup breathing activity, and meditation is recommended.”

“I did read that,” he defended, “but it sounded stupid, so I just skipped that part.”

“Do you even  _ want  _ to be able to use soul perception?”

“I mean…”

She sighed. “Don’t even answer that. Look, can you please at least try for me?”

“Okay okay fine.”

She continued reading. As she got to a certain step, her eyebrows furrowed. “Look, it says that learning to use soul resonance with a partner is optimal, if not required.”

“Oh.”

She glared at him. “You really haven’t read this, haven’t you.”

“I skimmed?” he stated, the phrase coming off as a question. “Okay, whatever, do you want to try doing soul resonance?”

She nodded, snapping the book shut for the second time that day. “Let’s go,” she said, getting her jacket. It was late afternoon in the fall, and that meant that it was cool. Even in the summer, nighttime in the desert was something to be avoided. 

“Wait, you mean now?” By saying that he wanted to learn soul resonance before trying to use soul perception, he had hoped to avoid the topic, or at least push it back to another time. He had thought it too late for them to go to the DWMA to train.

“When else?”

“...Okay, coming.” It seemed that he had forgotten how eager his weapon was.

* * *

It was personally insulting to him that she hated his motorcycle. It was  _ cool.  _ (Or so he thought, anyway.)

She said it was unsafe, to which he responded that it wasn’t the vehicle but the driver that made it unsafe, and didn’t she trust him? (The answer was no.)

Still, no matter how much he argued, she just wouldn’t take it. “You can drive that thing on your own, but I am  _ not  _ getting on it.” 

Oh, well. He’d try again later. The motorcycle had been the product of a large birthday check from his parents, and it was everything he could’ve hoped for. Except for the fact that he always went to school with Maka, and she refused to ride the thing, no matter how much he begged. It’s not like he would stop walking with his weapon; she was much more important than the motorcycle, but still… 

By the time they were at the DWMA, fifteen minutes had passed. Soul wondered, as he often did, who thought it a good idea to put  _ that  _ many stairs at the entrance. (It was kind of fun to see freshmen struggling to climb the stairs, but other than that, all it did was bring misery upon students and teachers alike. Maybe it was a way of keeping them in shape…?)

Maka walked up to the receptionist office—still open, as it always was. She quickly flashed her ID card, which displayed her name, weapon star ranking, and other information. “Excuse me, could you tell me where Professor Sid is?”

The receptionist didn’t hesitate or look down, only moving to adjust her glasses while still maintaining eye contact. “Professor Sid left an hour earlier. What do you need?”

“We were looking for a teacher to help us with soul resonance,” the weapon replied. “Although, isn’t he the only teacher who deals with that?”

“No,” the receptionist said. “Actually, we have a new teacher as of a few days ago. His name is Professor Stein. Room 140A.”

Maka and Soul traded looks. “Isn’t that…”

“The dissection room, yes.” The receptionist continued staring. Come to think of it, had she even blinked this entire time? “Is there anything else you need?”

“...No. Thank you very much.”

The two walked silently towards 140A, a room infamous to students. The school  _ did  _ offer (and mandate) many standard school classes, such as biology, English, and the likes. The dissection room, as 140A was often called, was where third- and fourth-year students dissected animals as a part of their zoology class. It was creepy, dark, and smelled horrible—nobody ever entered it unless they absolutely had to. Even the teachers who held classes in the room often complained about it.

It was a short walk to 140A, as it was on the same floor as the receptionist office. But something wasn’t right. The lights weren’t on. The door was closed—most teachers left them open.

“Maybe he’s not here,” Soul said, eyeing the small window that offered a look into the dark classroom.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Maka said. “Maybe he went to the bathroom or something.”

“Or maybe he’s just not here.”

Maka frowned. “He’d  _ have _ to be here, though. Professors follow a strict schedule.”

“Well, maybe he just doesn’t care about the schedule!”

“Of course he cares about the schedule,” Maka said, trying to convince herself more than Soul. “He’s supposed to. And he was just hired, so not being here would make a bad impression. He’s probably just taking a break somewhere. We can wait until he shows up.”

He rolled his eyes. “Sure. Let’s wait, then.”

* * *

Ten minutes had passed. Professor Stein was nowhere to be seen. Maka maintained that he was just taking an abnormally long bathroom break.

“Maybe the receptionist just made a mistake?” Soul asked, slumping against a wall. “Maybe he’s not in this room at—”

Soul was interrupted by a quiet, but audible creaking noise that filled the empty DWMA hall. Maka and Soul exchanged a look. It seemed that the sounds were coming from the inside of the room, but there was no one in there; they couldn’t have been, it was  _ completely dark.  _

“Hey, what do you think that—”

With a large swing, the door was pulled open. From inside 140A came a tall man with gray hair—although he wasn’t by any means old; he seemed about the same age as her papa, actually. He donned a crooked, large smile and a distant look in his eyes as he scanned the pair. Literally scanned. She could  _ feel  _ being watched. This was the work of soul perception.

But this wasn’t his most striking feature; what really took the prize was the literal giant gray screw in his head. She couldn’t definitively tell whether it was drilled into his skull or not, but it looked pretty solid.

The duo stared at him for a solid thirty seconds before he spoke.

“Who are you?” the words were crisp and careful.

Maka quickly regained her composure; this was no way to act, especially not around a teacher (was he a teacher? He didn’t have the correct identification, but she didn’t think someone who wasn’t a staff member or student would even be let into the Academy, so…). “Maka Albarn, demon scythe, and Soul Eater, meister. We’re a one-star third-year team. Are you Professor Stein?”

“Maka Albarn. You’re Spirit’s kid, hm?”

“He goes by Death Scythe now, but yes,” she answered. “How do you know him?” Now that she thought about it, this was a stupid question—of course he knew her papa, everyone did. He was Lord Death’s personal weapon. Practically a celebrity.

There was a glint in Stein’s eyes. “We used to be partners. Before he met your mother.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought he was always partnered with my mama.”

He twisted the screw absentmindedly. “Hm. No.”

They stared at each other for another thirty seconds. She had questions, so many of them, but… what could she say in response to  _ that _ ?

“So,” Soul said awkwardly. (Maka was silently glad that he had spoken. Silence always made her uncomfortable.) “Uh, Professor Stein, we were wondering if you could teach us about soul resonance?”

“You’re third years. Aren’t you going to learn that in a few months anyway? Why bother?” 

Soul had been asking himself that too.

“Well, sir,” Maka said, stepping forwards to face him—he was quite intimidating; the unpredictable look in his eyes that made Soul feel uneasy, but despite this, she held eye contact with him. “We wanted to learn soul perception earlier, which is why we’re asking. I read that it’s much easier to learn if you have a background in dealing with souls.”

Stein nodded, to Maka’s surprise. “You  _ are _ your mother’s daughter. Come in.”

“Wait, in...there?” Soul said incredulously. “It’s dark. And it smells horrible.”

“Precisely,” Stein said in the same neutral, even tone that he had used previously. He entered 140A without a second thought, shutting the door behind him.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! I hope the wait hasn't been too long. I'm really excited to say that next chapter will be the last of part 1 of this fic! I have a lot planned and I'm super excited. 
> 
> ALSO, my friends and I are going as Soul Eater characters for Halloween! I'm going to be Maka, and they'll be Crona, Kid, and Soul. We're going trick-or-treating. Yes, I'm WAY too old to be trick-or-treating. Do I care? Not really. Free candy.
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy!

Maka had never been in room 140A before, but it pretty much fit the description of what she had been told—dark and smelly, with a few large tables scattered around the room, all with sinks, and chemicals in jars scattered around, some of which were open (was that a hazard? Probably). Shelves of chemistry textbooks lined the walls and anatomy posters filled up the remaining space. In the center, a large desk with papers strewn about—Stein's desk, she assumed.

She couldn't imagine what he had been doing in here all alone in the most vile, hated room of the entire DWMA, or why he would want to do such a thing.

Well, Lord Death trusts him, so I should too, she reminded herself for the hundreth time in the past ten minutes. She hadn't successfully convinced herself of that yet.

Stein settled down on the chair, which, she learned after he pushed his foot on the ground and ended up on the other side of the room, had wheels. In the span of a few seconds, he grabbed a book from a shelf and rolled back to the desk. He propped it open and set it on top of the flat surface. 

“What is that?” Maka asked, stepping closer.

“A book,” Stein replied simply.

“Well, I can see that much,” she replied, chipper attitude not faltering a bit. “What’s it about?” 

“Soul resonance.”

“She means,” Soul said, stepping forward from behind his weapon, “what are we using it for?” The irritation was evident in his voice.

“Reading.”

Soul rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t bother arguing further; this guy was weird. In a way, though, the professor reminded him of Maka, in their stubbornness and how they both loved science. Well, maybe the latter was a bad thing, since Stein enjoyed spending his time in the complete darkness of a smelly, possibly-haunted dissection room; he’d have to make sure his partner never did that. That’d be totally uncool.

“So, will this help us with our soul resonance?” The weapon asked. 

“I hope so, or else this will be a waste of time, won’t it?”

“Yes, I guess you’re right,” she said with a smile. She leaned in closer to the desk to read the tiny, condensed words on the page Stein had flipped to: ‘Soul resonance and bonding of the weapon/meister soul’ was written in a large black header. 

“You take after your mother,” Stein said. “She loved reading. Wouldn’t stop, always thought she knew the answer to everything. The second strongest meister to ever graduate from the DWMA.” Maka could see the glint in his eyes as he added, “after me, of course.”

“You were—?”

“Yes, I was, but that’s for another time. Let’s get on with the lesson, shall we?”

Maka had so many questions. Her father had never told her that he had partnered up with anyone other than mama, nevermind ever talked about Professor Stein—and he had known her mother! Personally, it seemed. Maka had known that her mother had been one of the strongest meisters to ever come out of the Academy, but she’d never read or heard of Stein. Surely Lord Death or her father would have mentioned him in passing like they had the other Death Scythes and powerful meisters… but they hadn’t. Either he was lying (which wouldn’t make sense, because Lord Death didn’t strike her as someone who would hire a liar) or something was being hidden from her.

She didn’t like either of those possibilities. But it was time to focus on what was in front of her—having a stronger bond with Soul was the most important thing, she convinced herself, and everything else could come later. So she put away her questions and concerns in a metaphorical box in her mind, to be opened later. She would concentrate, and do well, and surpass even her mama in power.

Stein didn’t pay attention to the book in front of him as he gave them instructions. “Maka, transform into a weapon.”

It was hard when she was scared and younger and new to the Academy. She had been unable to transform little more than an arm or foot or hand, but after years of training, turning into an entire scythe had become so natural that it was easier to do so than a partial-body transformation. 

“Soul.”

Nothing more had to be said; white gloves reached out and the scythe’s handle materialized within his grip. Giving the weapon a practice spin, Soul was suddenly very glad that the DWMA had high ceilings. 

There it was: the familiar feeling, the strength that came from holding the weapon. Soul knew how it worked, of course. Maka always chided him for not doing his homework or listening during lectures, but if there was one thing he remembered, it was the ever-repeated truth that  _ the weapon amplifies that meister’s soul wavelength.  _

“Alright. Now comes the hard part,” Stein said. All this time, he hadn’t glanced at the book in front of him once. Soul nodded; he was ready for this. For all the times he made fun of his partner for studying too hard and being so nerdy, he wasn’t a horrible student himself; sure, he never did his homework, but he was still a skilled meister, in great physical shape (thanks to Maka—she was the one that kept insisting on training).

He was ready for this.

“You should be able to sense your partner’s soul,” Stein said in monotone. You would’ve thought he was bored, but that’s until you really looked at him and saw his eyes, large and bright and almost shining, and the wide smile that stretched across his face. “You might not even realize it. You’ve probably gotten used to it by now. Visualize it if you can.”

Soul shut his eyes tightly. Now that he concentrated, he could feel it—warm, bright…Maka. Tangible and yet not so. It radiated purity; he didn’t know how he could tell, but something about it gave it away. The more he thought about it, the more he could visualize it, and after a few moments, it was so bright he could almost feel the headache coming on.

“Did that work?”

“Uh, I think so,” Soul said, opening his eyes once more. Stein was leaning back on the rolling chair, feet on the desk (which seemed dangerous, but Soul didn’t really care, and apparently, neither did the professor). He seemed amused. 

“Damn,” Stein chuckled, “I didn’t expect it to—it doesn’t, usually. You’re smarter than I thought you were.”

“…Thanks?”

“Anyway, call out to the soul.”

“What does that even mean?”

The older meister stared at the boy. “I guess that’s for you to figure out.” 

There was no use in asking further questions. This was a test, Soul knew, for him and their partnership; as ridiculous as what Stein was asking of him was, it was also necessary if they wanted to progress and become stronger. Soul resonance wasn’t something definite and it was different to every team. It had to come naturally.

Once more, he shut his eyes. As a meister, he had always had a special connection to souls. While he’d never been able to see them, he had a sense of  _ rightness.  _ Being around a person with a soul, a good soul, felt complete. He couldn’t explain it any other way. On the other hand, when he was near a pre-kishin, he could, in turn, feel the emptiness that surrounded it. So he had a general sense of what he was supposed to do, and let his instincts take over.

He pictured her soul once more, and his own, and the two combining, and felt a small surge of power running through them. It was similar to what he felt when he wielded the weapon, but stronger. 

“Soul, you did it!” Maka said excitedly, appearing in the reflection of the scythe.

And then it ended.

“Not quite,” Stein said, taking a drag from a cigarette (where had that come from? And was that even allowed?). “What your partner has done is establish a short, small connection between you both—a precursor, if you will, to the real thing. But you’re on the right track. Keep going.”

So he tried again, pulling their souls together. This time, the power was stronger, and he concentrated on keeping it stable, on not letting it go. Gradually, it started to amplify; slowly, at first, but then exponentially. 

Suddenly, it happened.

While his wavelength had been steadily increasing for the past few seconds, it had now  _ jumped _ , and it had hit a peak. He could feel his senses sharpening, the blade getting sharper, him becoming faster and stronger. He no longer needed to concentrate to maintain the link between them, and slowly, he opened his eyes. 

The first thing he noticed were the colors; they were so much more vibrant than he was used to. The next was movement. Stein’s fingers tapping on the desk, which he hadn’t noticed before, were now obvious, to the point that it bothered him greatly and was almost painful to see. All of his instincts were screaming at him at once. He wasn’t used to feeling this way. It was overwhelming. 

He could feel electricity surging through him, too. Maka was almost vibrating underneath his gloves, and he was ready (for what, he didn’t know). 

“You did it,” the professor said. He took another drag from his cigarette. “Congratulations.”

“How does it feel?” his partner asked. To make up for Stein’s lack of enthusiasm, she was bursting with it, smiling so hard it must have hurt. 

“Weird,” he responded, truthfully.

Stein set his feet on the floor with a start. “I’d love to stay here and chat, kids, but I’ve got work to do.”

With that, Maka transformed back into her human form, ending their bond. It was like a slap in the face to Soul. He was going to have  _ such  _ a bad headache later.

Soul scowled. “That’s it?”

“Yes, it is,” the professor said as he walked out. “You can work on it later. My help isn’t necessary past this point.”

“Thanks, Professor Stein!” Maka yelled into the hallway. He didn’t respond. He seemed preoccupied with something, although he was too far ahead for them to see what it was.

The two of them gathered both of their things. There was no need to talk about what had just happened; they shared a quiet understanding that even though both of them would never admit it, they were incredibly excited and proud.

The weapon turned around to face her meister as they were walking out of the Academy. “Wait, can we talk to Lord Death about this?”

He groaned. “It’s late! Can’t we go tomorrow?”

She frowned. “Yeah, but there’s no school tomorrow. Do you  _ really  _ want to walk all the way back here?”

“We could always ride on my motorcycle,” Soul offered.

She didn’t need to say no. The look on her face already did.

“Okay, fine, you have a point,” he said. “Let’s go.”

It was only a two minute walk to the Death Room from there. In hindsight, they should’ve  _ asked  _ the headmaster first before barging in, but they had important news to share, so it was okay, right?

As they were walking through the guillotine-filled hallway, they began to hear things. Maka thought it was just random conversation at first, but as they grew closer to the graveyard, she could hear it more clearly.

Her eyes widened. She grabbed Soul’s arm to stop him and made a “shh” motion. At first, he was confused, but didn’t dare say anything; he trusted his weapon, and knew not to question her. As he listened, he realized why she had done so, and his expression of shock mirrored her own.

“It’s Crona. They’re becoming too powerful—well on the way to becoming a kishin. Only a few more rituals and they’ll go from a late-stage pre-kishin to a fully fledged kishin.” The voice seemed oddly familiar, but she couldn’t place who it was.

“We need to prevent that, of course,” a voice that was unmistakably Lord Death’s replied.

The first person sighed. “That will be hard, of course. Whoever is controlling Crona—a witch, intelligence suggests—is keeping them closely guarded. The incident in which the young one-star team got hurt was an anomaly, and neither Crona nor affiliates have been spotted since. They won’t be making that mistake again.”

“That’s a shame.”

The scraping of a large object—presumably, a chair—could be heard. That was their cue: it was time to go. As quietly as they could, they walked out. They didn’t dare say a word until they were far from the DWMA.

“They were talking about us,” Maka said quietly. It was unlikely that anyone would hear them, but taking precautions was always good.

“Yeah.”

“About the person that attacked us.”

“...Yeah. It sounded kinda serious.”

“Do you think they noticed us?”

“They’d probably say something, right? If they did.”

“I guess you’re right.”

They walked in silence for the rest of the walk home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!! I know my updating schedule has been awful lately. I'm really sorry. Like I said, though, I won't be abandoning this story. I'm actually really excited, though, since this is the (unofficial) end of part I of this story. After this, things will be a little different. (Also, this chapter is a bit longer than usual, so...yay)
> 
> Also, considering that first years are about 12 in SE, it's my headcanon that there are about 6 grades/years, and they're done with school at the age of ~18.

There was a new team at school. 

There were rumors flying about, even though they hadn’t showed up yet. It was the first day of the winter semester, so whoever they were—they  _ had  _ to be here, right? But they weren’t. It had been confirmed by Stein and Sid themselves, after much pestering, but it was already 10 AM. A new student wouldn’t show up late to the first day, of course. And they had to be important, too; why else would Lord Death allow a student to just show up in the middle of the year?

Everyone in the school was abuzz. Theories ran rampant: “Maybe they’re sick.” “All of them?”; “What if they were killed in battle?” “Wouldn’t we have heard about that?”; and Maka’s very favorite, passed on by Ox Ford himself, “What if it’s all just a conspiracy invented by the professors so we’ll think there’s more competition and work harder?”

Whatever the case, school was still going on, and Maka didn’t care particularly much for gossip. 

_ Soul,  _ on the other hand. 

To him—and Black Star—this was the most important event of the year; nay, the  _ decade.  _ Maka wasn’t allowed to hit students in class anymore, but if she were, the two meisters would have been badly concussed by now. They kept whispering to each other during Magical History, and it was really getting on her nerves. 

It was 11 AM when the whispers got louder and more frantic.  _ He’s here.  _

The kid looked weird. Pale skin, black hair with three parallel, horizontal white stripes going through the front, and yellow eyes. Not to mention the fact that he was wearing a  _ suit _ . 

His weapons were weird, too. There were two of them, which was notable enough. They weren’t following the dress code either, wearing matching red shirts and cowboy hats. They seemed familiar. Maybe they lived in Death City before coming to the DWMA—there  _ were _ quite a few civilians, after all. 

Professor Naigus introduced him to the class. “Everyone, say hello to our new student.”

“He’s a third year,” Soul said, eyes darting to Black Star conspiratorially. 

“Should we beat him up?”

Professor Naigus, hearing them—Black Star could  _ not  _ whisper—shot them a glare before focusing back onto the new student. “Kid, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“My name is Death the Kid. These are my twin guns, Liz and Patty.”

“Do you have any interests or hobbies you’d like to share with the class?”

“Interests?” Death the Kid asked. Professor Naigus nodded. “Well, I suppose I am interested in symmetry. It’s the most perfect of art forms, after all. How could I  _ not  _ be interested in it?” He smiled lovingly as if he were talking about someone very dear to him. 

Ox Ford raised his hand.

“Yes, Ox?” the Professor asked. 

“What about the stripes in your hair?  _ That’s  _ not very symmetrical.”

The smile disappeared.

The taller weapon laughed nervously and said, “Alright! Come on, Kid, let’s sit down!”

“They’re not symmetrical,” he mumbled. “They’re not—”

The shorter one started giggling. “Kid’s right! He’s not symmetrical!”

The tall one had to drag both back to their seats. Kid was still crying while Professor Naigus resumed lecturing.

***

“He’s pretty weird,” Black Star said. “What’s all that stuff about symmetry about, anyway?”

“Dunno,” Soul replied. “Think we can take him?”

“Definitely.”

“Black Star, do you really think this is a good idea?” Tsubaki chimed in. “I mean, he seems pretty powerful…”

“He seems like a  _ nerd _ !”

Tsubaki just sighed.

“Why do you  _ want  _ to fight, anyway?!” Maka was not in the mood to deal with her rowdy partner getting injured. “And— _ how?  _ I don’t know if you numbskulls have noticed, but you’re both meisters!”

Soul and Black Star exchanged a look, and then glanced at Maka. 

“Oh, no.”

“You don’t even know what we were gonna say!” Soul protested. 

“Oh no. Nonononono. You are  _ NOT  _ bringing me into this,” she said sternly. “Or Tsubaki!” she added as an afterthought. The other weapon nodded. Even though she supported her rowdy meister, she was too much of a kind spirit to harm a fellow classmate. 

“Dude, it’ll be fine!” Black Star said. “I mean, he’s new. He hasn’t been to any classes yet, and, besides, he’s like, what, twelve?”

“Actually,” a voice chimed in from behind, “I happen to be fourteen. I’m just very small for my age.”

“ _ You! _ ”

“Hello. My name is Death the Kid, but you may simply call me Kid if you choose,” the short (yet lanky) meister said. He held out a hand to shake and gave his best professional smile. When nobody responded, he added, completely seriously, “I look forward to being your peer.”

Black Star stepped forward. “Do you  _ really  _ think we’d gonna be friends with a nerd like you?”

The taller weapon, who  Maka recognized as Liz, rolled her eyes. “Look, Kid, let’s go. They don’t wanna be pals.”

“Yeah!” Patty enthused. “They’re gonna beat you uuu _ uuuu _ pp!”

A bit of an odd reaction, but who was Maka to judge?

No, she was Maka Albarn, the sense of reason. Her partner was a different story, but it was her responsibility, as the designated Friend Who Thinks Things Through, to prevent these numbskulls from hurting some socially awkward emo kid. 

She felt kind of bad for him. People had called her names in the beginning of her time at the DWMA, but after a good book or two to the cranium, they had stopped. This guy didn’t know how to do that. Actually, now that she thought of it, did he even know they were trying to bully him…?

“Come on, Soul,” she said firmly. “Leave him alone. We have a test tomorrow, anyway—we have to go home.”

It was no use. 

“Is it true?” Kid asked. “That you wish to fight me?”

“Yeah,” Black Star replied. Maka facepalmed. That sure was forward. 

“ _ You don’t even have a weapon! _ ” Maka said exasperatedly. “Who are you going to fight with?”

“We can take him ourselves,” Soul said. “He can bring his weapons, we’ll fight hand-to-hand.” With this, Soul and Black Star fistbumped. 

“But—he’s got weapons! Guns!”

“So?”

Maka sighed. “You know what? If you want to get hurt, sure. I’m going home. The nurse will call me if you get seriously injured anyway.”

“Maka, it’ll be  _ fine _ !”

***

What they weren’t counting on was the fact that his weird name wasn’t just a  _ name _ —the title Death the Kid it was literal. He was  _ the  _ Death the Kid, Lord Death’s son. 

And the fact that he was new? Well, he had been homeschooled. By the God of Death. 

It wasn’t a big deal. Fights were commonplace in the Academy, being a combat school, and Nurse Medusa was always ready to treat whatever injuries the fighters had obtained. Besides, most of the weapons used soul energy and, if used non-lethally, wouldn’t actually physically injure someone. It would hurt, of course. But it was hard to break bones or cut through flesh unless you were really trying or just using a non-living weapon. 

When Soul finally came home, he did  _ not  _ look happy. He had limped through the door without saying a word. 

“Hey, Soul?” Maka had asked, not turning around from her position on the couch, where she was reading a book. 

“Yeah?”

“I told you so,” she had said with a smirk. 

“I know,” he replied sullenly. “Trust me. I know.”

She hummed in approval and continued reading.  _ Serves him right,  _ she thought.  _ I mean, he  _ was  _ pretty much bullying that kid—we’re in a combat school, for Death’s sake! What did he expect? _

She looked to the clock. 7:00, and she had already finished studying—there was far less material than she had thought there would be, and she was a natural at Soul Theory, anyway. There was something she’d been meaning to do…

“Hey,” she asked, finally turning around to face him, “you’ll be okay if I go out, right?”

He grunted in approval. He was in pain, clearly, but they were both pros at being hurt, had been injured so many times that it was nothing to them. 

“Okay, then,” she said. “I’ll be back before eight.”

“Where are you going?” he asked. 

“Oh, just running some errands…”

She gave him a smile, ruffled his hair, and, with a quick swipe of her keys and jacket, left the house. 

She wasn’t scared of walking alone. Never had been. Why would she be—she had the ability to turn into a  _ scythe  _ at a moment’s notice, a literal living weapon. She may have looked small and harmless on the outside, but years of combat training had hardened her into an able fighter. If anything, criminals should fear  _ her.  _

Death City was a safe place, anyway. Anyone who had a rotten, evil soul or a thirst for violence couldn’t make it past the front gates—or wouldn’t want to. The people of Death City weren’t exactly easy targets. 

It was only a twenty minute walk to her father’s house, and it was a walk free of worry. She actually wished that it was farther away, so she could physically distance herself from him if nothing else, but in situations like this, he  _ could  _ be useful. (And it wasn’t like she really hated him, either. He could just be an idiot sometimes. Well, most of the time. All of the time.)

She was here, on his doorstep, a place she’d never wished to be again. She knocked on the door hesitantly. 

His house was closer to the DWMA, which made sense, because if there was an urgent matter he needed to be the first one there. And it, like many of the other houses in the city, was quite...festive. Lord Death insignias filled everywhere—three on the door, one huge one on the welcome mat, probably more if she looked. (She wondered if it was weird to have the face of your boss on practically everything you owned.)

After a few moments, he stumbled—literally, as she could hear heavy, irregular footsteps—towards the door. The doorknob jiggled for a few seconds before he finally opened it successfully. 

The expression on his face went from despondent to ridiculously happy real fast upon seeing Maka. 

“MAKA! You’re HOME! COME INSIDE, PAPA MISSED YOU!” He went in for a bear hug. She reluctantly accepted. 

Sighing into the hug, she said, “Papa, I didn’t come for hugs. I need to ask you something.”

“Is it about that white-haired monster?” he gasped. “Has he deflowered you?!”

“PAPA! STOP!”

It was a shame she hadn’t brought a book with her. 

“He has a name! And it’s not about Soul. It’s actually quite serious,” she grumbled. 

He released her from the embrace. "Okay, Maka," he said, tears forming in his eyes (the young weapon resisted the urge to roll hers, remembering that she was here for a reason) "I'll stay strong. What is it you need, my precious flower?"

She looked around. There weren't any people around, but she didn't want anyone to hear what she was talking about—and there still was that chance. Maka Albarn didn't take chances.

Reluctantly, she asked, "Can I come inside?" 

"I thought you'd never ask!" 

Walking inside, she realized that the house hadn't changed much. Exept for one thing: there were now an ungodly amount of family pictures on the wall. Maka wondered if the women her papa were with felt weird about that. Probably.

He took a seat. She chose the seat farthest from him. Despite this, he smiled warmly at her and said, "Tell your papa what's wrong!"

Not wasting any time,  she asked, "Do you know a man named Stein?"

The grin melted off his face.

"I—what? Stein? No, never heard of him. Who's Stein? I don't know who he is. Sounds like an interesting guy."

She gave him a stern look. "Papa, I know you're lying! Tell me the truth."

"No! Where would you get that idea?"

She narrowed her eyes. "Maybe because of the fact that he told me about you?"

"WHAT?" He drained of all color and leaned in. "What-what did he say?"

"Not much," she replied, truthfully, "but, papa—how do you know him?"

He looked down. "He was my meister, a long, long time ago. Before your mama came along."

Partners?! She hadn't expected that! A friend, maybe, or an old colleague—but partners? A partner was someone you shared your entire being with, your soul. It was a big deal, and a pair usually stayed together until they retired—or until one of them died.

"You mean mama wasn't your first meister?" she asked, wide-eyed. "How long were you together? And what happened?"

"He-he was a MONSTER!" At this point, he burst into tears. "He used to operate on me in my sleep! I still have the scars from what he did to me!"

"How did you sleep through him OPERATING on you?!"

"I'm a heavy sleeper," he sobbed. "I didn't realize until I was halfway into my schooling at the Academy—"

"...Papa, that's three years. You went  _ three years _ without noticing that your partner was operating on you in your sleep?"

"Well...yes. Anyway, your mama—well, she was a second-year, and... at the time, she was kind of scary, and people didn't want to team up with her. But we found out that our soul wavelengths matched!"

"Evidently not well enough," Maka muttered.

"And, well, you know the rest." The Death Scythe gave his daughter a tight smile. "Are we done? Please tell me we're done."

"One more thing," the young weapon said while her papa groaned. "I...accidentally walked in on a conversation—about a month ago. It was between Lord Death and Professor Stein. Something about Crona, that meister who attacked Soul and I a while back. Do you know anything about that?"

His smile never faltered. "Can't say I've heard anything about it."

"Okay, then. That's all. Thanks, Papa." She got up and began to gather her things.

"Wait! Can I have another hug?" he asked. When she didn't respond, he added, "Pleaase?"

"Oh, fine," she grumbled, and succumbed.

Still, there were unspoken words on her lips as she walked home:  _ I watched you lie for years to Mama. I think by now I can tell when you’re not telling me the truth. _

But it was okay. His silence told her more than words ever could.

Maka Albarn  _ would  _ get to the bottom of this.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I decided to post this as a Christmas/New Years' present. This was going to be one chapter, but after 3k words I decided to stop and just split it into two. I hope you guys enjoy! Also, if you like reading this, I'd appreciate it if you could comment/review. It'd mean a lot to me, and it kind of feels like nobody reads this. While I write because I like doing so, it still feels kind of disheartening when I post something and nobody comments. (Also, I haven't proofread this chapter very much, so if there are any errors, please let me know.)

This was it. Their 99th human soul.

It was a moment Maka and Soul—well, mostly Maka, although it was undeniable that Soul was at least a  _ little  _ excited—had been waiting for. 

She had planned out every aspect of it. As early fourth-years, they were allowed, of course, to go on out-of-state missions, and they were well over halfway of their education at the Academy. Due to all of Maka’s hard work, they had already collected 98 souls—something that not even many sixth years had accomplished. Even though there had been a hitch in their plans earlier, it seemed to only have made the weapon even more tireless and determined.

As soon as they had been able to go on missions, they had. Maka had kept a neat log of every soul and the information about it, had it ever been necessary or inquired upon (it never had been—but it  _ had  _ provided useful when Black Star had bet $20 that they hadn’t really collected exactly sixty-seven souls during the middle of their third year).

Maka’s organization hadn’t changed, but the weapon-meister certainly had. Ever since they had learned soul resonance, they had quickly and easily became one of the most powerful teams in the school. On days when Stein could be bothered—which was rarely—Maka and Soul made their way to the dissection room, where he helped them develop Witch Hunter.

...Unfortunately, it would probably be a while until Witch Hunter was functional. As it stood, the last time they tried, they had literally sliced a desk  _ in half.  _ Stein had said it was “one of the most impressive things” he had seen all week. Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the kind but firm lecture Lord Death had given them.

It was a relatively simple job as jobs went: one killer, who had been witnessed before. Like most pre-kishin, he was a gruesome amalgamation of limbs that were too long, tightly stretched, pale skin, and too-sharp teeth. Like most pre-kishin, he had started off as a human but had eaten more and more innocent human souls until he had warped into a monster. 

They had taken down ninety-eight pre-kishin souls before this, many of then jobs much more complicated than this. They were both confident in their abilities, and Soul had been training extra hard lately so they could take down a witch.

But they could focus on a witch later—this was now. 

And now was sitting on the floor of a hotel room reviewing case files. 

“I’ve made a list of likely targets he’d pursue,” Maka said, sliding over a large manilla folder. 

“So we’re going to warn them to stay home?” Soul asked, french fry in mouth. 

“Of course not,” she responded. “We want to catch this guy, right?”

“Yeah, but wouldn’t it be dangerous? For the people involved.”

“Well, yes, but we’re here to make sure it’s not,” Maka said. “We’re going to do the job right.”

“Anyway, how do you know it’s these people and not—” he gestured around aimlessly with his hands—”other people?”

“Well, he’s only had a few victims so far, but they were all pretty similar,” she answered. “You know, they lived really closeby, and they were all… disadvantaged, I guess. Easy targets. One of them was old, one a drunkard, the other sick, and none with any living relatives or anyone that’d miss them. The fact that he can somewhat control who he targets means he hasn’t gone completely mad yet. And maybe he even thinks he’s doing something good, only taking the lives of people who had already wasted them.”

“Uh, that’s pretty grim.”

“Yeah, but so is the job, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, a reluctant agreement. “How can you tell a pattern if there’s only been three murders so far? What if it’s all just random?”

“Well—”

“Wait a minute, how do you even have all this information? That wasn’t in the case file!”

“You  _ ask.  _ Really, all you have to do is show your DWMA ID and people will practically throw help at you.”

“Really? I’ve tried that before and all I got was angry glares!”

“Maybe you need to ask  _ nicely? _ ”

“But that’s so uncool!”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, whatever. Pay attention, would you? This is a relatively suburban area, with not many people living here, and—,” she took a map out of one of the folder and slid it at him—,”The attacks were both  _ very  _ close to each other.”

He looked at the map. She was right: the attacks were scarcely a block apart, marked with bright red Xs. 

“Why can’t we just track down where this guy lives? I mean, it has to be close.”

“I tried, but there’s no suitable hiding place for a pre-kishin  _ anywhere  _ around here. No abandoned buildings, large structures,  anything. This is just a typical small town, nothing amiss.”

“That’s weird,” Soul said, eyebrows scrunching up. “So does that mean that he’s living in a house? Nobody noticed their neighbor turned into a giant, soul-devouring monster?”

“Well, we don’t know for certain, but… Probably, yes. Besides, he could’ve told people that he was going on a vacation or moving temporarily, or something like that, and leave at night to hunt.”

A pause hung between them. 

“Geez. That’s fucked up.”

“ _ Soul! _ ”

“What? You know it’s true,” he said, smirking widely. 

“As true as that might be, I don’t condone the language,” she said, beet red and with crossed arms. “Anyway, I don’t know how long this mission is going to take. Ideally, a couple of days, but we don’t have too many leads. We’ll have to confront him the old-fashioned way.”

Soul cracked his knuckles, still grinning. “Y’know, I’ve been itching to use Witch Hunter.”

“ _ Soul no. _ ”

“Soul yes! Soul  _ hell yeah _ ! Come on, this is our ninety-ninth soul. How are we going to catch a witch if we don’t even have witch hunter?”

“How are we going to catch if we mess up the mission we’re doing right now?”

“We won’t. You know I’m cooler than that! I can handle it,” he said. Taking on a more serious tone, he added, “We’ve been working on it for months now. When are we gonna to be ready?”

“I don’t know,” Maka said. She stared at the ground. “We’re not ready yet. That’s all I know.”

“You  _ know?  _ How do you know?! You can’t study for everything!”

Her head turned and she glared at him. “I can darn well try!”

He sighed. He liked his partner, but sometimes she was just...too headstrong. He’d appreciate it if she at least  _ humor  _ his ideas. (Then again, from personal experience, she was usually right. Maybe following her wasn’t such a bad idea.)

“Okay, fine. No Witch Hunter yet, but—when?”

Her face softened, a rare sight. “Look, I don’t want to keep you from doing what you want. I want to try Witch Hunter too, but… I also don’t want to knock a hole in some old person’s house.” He laughed quietly. “Can we just wait a little longer until it’s stable?”

“Okay, fine,” he grumbled. Maka would always be his soft spot. (Although he’d never admit it, because that’d be totally uncool. Even though she probably already knew, since soul resonance meant he conjoinment of souls and thus thoughts and feelings were often transmitted from one person to the next… Oh Death, he didn’t even want to think about that.) ”So what now?”

The intensely focused expression on her face was back. “We wait until nightfall, and then hunt this guy down.”

* * *

When Soul was younger, back when his only distraction from his hectic daily life was the dream that one day he could study at the DWMA, he imagined hunting down pre-kishin as some kind of grand, exciting battle. Which was the case, sometimes, but the majority of the time hunting down a bad guy was hours and hours of waiting silently. Maka and him were stationed on two roofs about a block apart. While he couldn’t physically see her, he could imagine the look on her face well enough such that he might as well have been.

He could imagine her nose scrunched up, lying down on her stomach, keenly observing the world around her from the top of a modest two-story home.  _ Nothing  _ got past Maka Albarn. In fact, she was the one that had gained them the last four souls. They were keeping a tally now. (It wasn’t like he was  _ trying  _ to slack off—it was just that his mind naturally wandered after two hours of staring into the pitch black night.)

Even though it was tempting to ignore the task at hand, the fact that he was dealing with real lives sobered him from his usual careless attitude. He couldn’t afford to do that here.

“Got anything?” he asked into his walkie-talkie. 

“Still nope. Wait!” His heart beat a little faster, and he readied himself to start running.

After a moment of silence, he asked, “What is it? Did you see something?”

“Oh, no. I thought I did, but it was just a bird. Nevermind.”

“Oh,” he said. Disappointing. Truthfully, it wasn’t certain, or even likely, that they would encounter the pre-kishin tonight. This mission was expected to take anything from a week to a month, with the irregularity of the pre-kishin’s attacks. It was rare for one of the beasts to attack so sparsely, but not unheard of. That was why they had been assigned—as an almost two-star team, they took on the missions that their younger counterparts couldn’t handle. The longer, harder, farther, more physically exerting ones. 

Waiting. More waiting.  _ Hours  _ of waiting. Soul’s mind began to wander. After the 99th soul, what then? They’d have to track down a witch. They would be one of the youngest teams ever to accumulate so many souls so quickly, and even though they hadn’t had too many problems yet, a witch was on an entirely different level. Or so he’d heard. It wasn’t like they let witches anywhere near the DWMA, and there weren’t very many in existence in the first place. (He’d fallen asleep in Witch Studies too many times to count, but after Maka’s forceful tutoring, he knew at least this little.)

“How long are—” Maka let out a squeal on the other end.

“Are you...okay?... What even was that?”

“Don’t surprise me like that!”

“How did I even—Okay, nevermind. How long are we going to be here?”

“Um, I,” Maka said, trying to regain composure, “Actually, uh,” she laughed, but without humor, “I don’t know. Until dawn, I guess? Or, obviously, we see or hear something.”

“Wait, until  _ dawn? _ But that’s in, like, five hours! I thought you had a plan!”

“No! And also, be quiet. Someone might hear you. Whisper, Soul.”

“So you’re not drawing him out, or following a potential suspect, or?”

“Well, he has to live somewhere around here, right? All of the attacks have been really close. I figure that even if he’s not going out to attack, he has to  _ leave _ at one point. Right?”

A pause hung between them. “Y’know, I think this is the first time you’ve ever been without a plan on a mission like this.”

“I do have a plan. Sort of. It’s just very loose-ended,” she said. “Besides, why are you depending on  _ me  _ for a plan? You come up with a plan if you want one so badly!”

“So you admit you have no plan!” Soul was victorious, having proven his point.

“No! Yes! Kind of,” she said irritatedly. “Okay, great. I admit it: I have no idea what we’re doing. Now what?”

“Well, we’ll probably just keep on staring into the dark—wait, are we going to do this tomorrow, too?”

“...Hopefully not, but most likely, yes.”

“Ohhhh my Death. We’re going to be here forever. Just staring into the abyss.”

“Come on, that’s a little over dramatic.” He could almost hear the pout in her voice. “We’ll be here as long as it takes to  _ save lives. _ ”

“Okay but that doesn’t change the fact that  _ we’ll be here forever. _ ” He paused, and then realized something life-changing. “Wait a minute—”

“I’ll be here all night, Soul. Take your time.”

“Did you just sass me?” He grinned widely, even though he knew she couldn’t see. Maybe she could feel it through their soul bound like he could when she smiled.

“It appears so.”

“Okay, anyway. We’re going to be here for, like, a month. And I don’t have to go to any classes. This is amazing.”

“Let me get this straight,” Maka started, and Soul could  _ feel  _ the annoyance, “You’d rather wait, in the darkness, for hours… for a killer that may or may not go outside… than study?”

“That about sums it up, yeah.”

“Soul, you’re  _ impossible! _ You do realize we still have to do homework while we’re away, right? I have all our textbooks with me, and—” even though they were practically in the middle of nowhere, where nobody could feasibly hear them, she lowered her voice for the next part—”I’ll be damned if you slack off.”

“Woaaah, Maka, did you just curse?” He gasped in mock horror. “Not from star student Maka Albarn! I won’t believe it! My ears are stained with obscenity forever!”

“I hate you,” she grumbled—but he knew she didn’t mean it.

* * *

On the fifth day Maka realized that their 99th soul wouldn’t be such an easy catch.

Maka had prepared to be here for what could possibly be a month, but didn’t think that she’d actually be here for a month, because come on, that was so long! Surely she’d track the pre-kishin down before then, with her skills and all. She was the best in her class; she could handle taking down another pre-kishin. After all, they’d already collected 98 souls. How hard could another one be?

During the days, they slept. Well, she did. Soul didn’t sleep very much. It was bearable when they had different rooms, but now that they shared a hotel room it was different. Even though they were at opposite ends, him constantly getting up during the middle of the night made for a spotty night of sleep for her. 

And Death help you when Maka Albarn didn’t get her doctor-recommended 9 hours of sleep.

During the nighttime, they researched, roamed the neighborhood, monitored, and trained. They kept meticulous records of everyone who lived there, but there was nobody who stood out. Nobody who left for an extended period of time or died. It seemed that they had hit a dead end.

* * *

Day seven. Soul’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. “Hey, do you hear that?”

Maka fumbled to pick up her own device, which had been laying on the floor. Hurriedly, she said, “No. What, do you hear something?”

“I dunno. Sounds kind of like leaves rustling or something. It’s pretty quiet.”

Her eyebrows scrunched up. “Well, it could just be an animal, but I don’t want to rule anything out. Can you tell where it’s coming from, exactly?”

There was a moment of silence. Maka assumed her partner was looking around into the ground beneath them, but it was too dark to tell anything for certain. There were street lights on their block, but they were too far away to help.

“I see something! It’s moving!”

“Really? That’s amazing! Can you see what it is?”

“...”

“Soul?”

“It was a raccoon.”

* * *

Day twelve. Honestly, at this point she was ready to give up. Realistically, she knew that it wasn’t even expected of her to solve the case this early, but the high expectations she had set for herself said otherwise. 

Her finger traced the mirror, smudging it as it went along. She chanted the phrase that had been drilled into her mind since she was a child: “Fourty-two, fourty-two, five-six-four…”

She leaned back--shooting her slouching meister a quick glare--and waited for Lord Death.

He was quick as always. “Howdy, Maka! And Soul too. What a lovely surprise. How’s the mission going? Any luck?”

The two shared a look before Maka answered for the both of them. “Not really. We had hoped to catch the killer by now, but it’s proven to be harder than expected.”

Lord Death nodded. “Yes, I see. This case was expected to be a tough oe, but nevertheless, you seem to be faring well! Are you keeping up with your studies?”

Maka nodded eagerly. “Of course! One of my classmates is sending me notes, and I make sure to study every day.”

Lord Death clapped his large, foam hands together and smiled (in the back of her mind, Maka wondered how a mask could smile, but didn’t dwell on it). “Lovely, lovely! Oh--,” he seemed to realize that he had been called for a reason, “is there something you wanted to ask me?”

“We just wanted to update you about the state of affairs,” Maka said. “It might be a while until we’re back at the Academy.”

Lord Death waved his hands dismissively. “Don’t worry about it! I’ve sent students on missions far longer than yours, and you’ll see such missions in your lifetimes, I’m sure of it. You two are my star students--I trust you to do a good job! Come to think of it, this is your 99th soul. I must warn you, eating the soul of a witch is one of the hardest feats a meister-weapon team will ever face. Do you have any plans?”

“Not yet, sir,” Maka said. “Even with our 99th soul, we don’t plan to pursue a witch immediately. I’d like to perfect Witch Hunter first.”

Looking towards Soul, and then down, she added, “I don’t want to get into anything that would get one of us hurt.”


End file.
